But life goes on
by moonbird
Summary: Yet another one of those, examining John Watsons thoughts after "The Reichenbach fall."   What would may or may not happen after, just a little one-shot.
1. Chapter 1

_AN; Yeah I know, there's like a __bazillion fanfics out there just like this one! _

_But well, I was honestly and really genuinely disturbed by that last Sherlock episode,_ _it was very recent that one of my best friends committed suicide, and then seeing Sherlock doing the same thing... it just got to me, I couldn't sleep that night.. at all.. So this sort of helped me get my thoughts back on track. And well, unlike real life, I could give this one an amusing happy ending, I will leave the real next meeting between Sherlock and Watson to the profs, there's going to be a season more next year you know, I'll bet Moffat is going to write an hillariouse yet awesome second meeting just look at Doctor who._

_Doctor; Not to be rude.. but you're dead._

_Rory; yeah..._

_Doctor; How?_

_Rory; Look! I died and turned into a Roman, it's all very distracting! _

_Moffat I love you :D_

_I just have a little theory about how it might happen between Sherlock and Watson, but it's not what the fic is about at all. _

* * *

><p>I can't even pretend to understand why, or how… how or why.<p>

Even though I was there, heard his voice, his final words, moments before I would see him fall. Falling all the way down. Saw it all, saw the result.

I've been to war, he is not the first of my friends to die, he is not the first I have seen dying in front of me, if it was out on a battle field gunned down before my eyes, or on a second rates operations table quickly put up in a tent not ten miles away from the war zone. Yeas, death I have seen plenty off. But not like this.

It was not a man shot in a war zone while fighting for his life, it was not a wounded or ill man dying on the operations table. I saw it. He took that step by himself, not pushed, not forced, the most brilliant, intelligent, logical man this earth have ever seen, took one of the most mind wrenching, none sensible, illogical decisions, which caused him to fall.

What am I feeling? I don't know. I don't know why and I don't how, I don't know what.

What happened? what I am feeling? what should I be feeling? what should have happened? and what should not have?

I remember clearly when I first met Sherlock Holmes, felt just as baffled then as I do now to be honest. Didn't know what to make of him. And yet he still intrigued me, fascinated me, annoyed me. And he was brilliant, no doubt, he was a brilliant man.

I wonder what he saw when he looked at me upon our first meeting, ordinary dull John without a purpose or home, why would he even pause? I wonder what he saw in me as we lived together, argued, drew each other up the walls, solved cases. I suppose in a way we could become two children out having fun, one just happened to be an army doctor with the rank of captain and the other a genius.

And now as I am supposed to write down the final chapter, I still don't know what to make of it. Any of it.

Well, maybe I got something. He was my best friend. and nothing, can ever change that.

John sighed deeply glancing at the blog entry on his I-phone, this confusing mess which were supposedly the state of his thoughts put into word, he glanced over them ones again, his thumb sliding down the tiny little key-board before pressing delete, and in a blink of an eye, it was all gone again and John stuffed the I-phone back in his pockets as he looked around at where he stood ones again.

He probably shouldn't be here, yet he was compelled to come, to just see from himself.

John was standing on top of a roof top, but not just any roof top, the roof top where it had happened, on top of a re-search centre belonging to the police and investigation burros, the place he and Sherlock had visited on many occasions when his own living room weren't enough for the investigations. Which technically was all the time, but Sherlock was so good at improvising with what he had so he didn't move to that building unless he had to, walking from place to place was boring, though that just a lot of mess and weird stuff at their own flat.

John slowly walked towards the ledge.. a very specific ledge and glanced over, he could see where himself had been standing when it happened, so far down there, and looking downwards he could see where Sherlock had landed. The place were now covered in flowers, people Sherlock had helped through time, people who hadn't been fooled by such things as news-papers, simply because they had in astountment witnessed Sherlock solve their impossible problems in a blink of an eye. Those people had left so many flowers down there, filling up the entire pavement, as John looked down there, another person was coming with his own bouquet of white lilies, John recognised him, it hadn't been more than two months ago Sherlock had within minutes uncovered that his wife had been cheating on him with several people for over three years. Back then the man had been furious, but a few weeks after John had received a thank you note from him, telling he was now able to move on with his life.

John didn't even remember that mans name, there was so many of them. So very very many. And the flowers down there didn't even need to be from former clients, but also just fans who needed some kind of hero and would rather stick to their own naive believes than listening to others.

It helped a bit, to know that there indeed were people out there still believing in Sherlock, all though. They were largely out numbered! The news-paper had sade. "Fake genius commits suicide." the underlining. "When the proves gets exposed, the coward flees towards the most permanent destination, where the shame can't reach him."

And for those who had never met Sherlock or followed him for a long time.. it was just easier to buy. In the mind of the staggering dominate part of London, England and the rest of the World. Sherlock Holmes was a murderer, psychopath, coward, liar and a fake. It didn't help that much John very well knew none of that was true, Sherlock was a sociopath not a psychopath. The trouble was, that was now what Sherlock had become, and worst of all. He was dead.

"You're not going to also jump are you?" A voice sounded from behind Watson. "I honestly don't think we can handle more of those." the voice suddenly almost tired from the confession.

Watson turned his head around to meet the owner of the familiar voice. "Lestrade." He greeted.

"Watson." Lestrade greeted back. "So are you?" he gestured at the ledge John was standing at.

"Oh no, of cause not." John stepped back. "It's erh.. lovely view.. flowers." He awkwardly gestured.

Lestrade stepped ford and glanced down. "So there is." He commented as if he didn't all ready knew, as if he hadn't just passed them to get into the building at all before turning to John looking at him. "Honestly John, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"I don't know." John shrugged. "Just trying to figure.." he smacked his lips as he thoughtfully looked around, any-where but at Lestrade. It was a rather lovely day actually, the sky was mostly blue with only a few clouds, it was windy and a little cold so high up, but not to uncomfortable, which just made the whole thing that much more strange "Trying to figure." Watson pondered ones again.

Lestrade lifted an eye-brow then walked past John towards the ledge. "Well, obviously you know precisely where Sherlock stood, it was right here." He stated pointing at the ledge in front of him and then turned around. "Richard Brooke, excuse me, Jim Moriarty was found there." He then told pointing at a dark spot on the ground. "Suicide, he shovelled the pistol into his mouth." Lestrade stuck two fingers into his mouth in demonstration. "Pointed upwards, and bam, no more Moriaty, or Brooks, or who ever the hell he was." He told removing the fingers merely looking at Watson. "He died around the same time as Sherlock jumped, so close to each other that's it's impossible to tell who died first, but as no one heard gun shot after Sherlock feel down, we assume Moriaty was the first one to go, one till two minutes before Sherlock jumped." He told. "Security cameras shows that Moriarty went up here first, waited for Sherlock who came up five minutes after, looking quite calm actually, and then they spend around ten minutes up here before Sherlock jumped."

"Ten minutes." John mumbled to himself. "What on earth happened here in those ten minutes?" he asked.

"I'm afraid the world will never know." Lestrade told stuffing his hands in his pockets looking out in the air. "Maybe Sherlock saved the world, maybe he was exposed in the worst possible way, maybe he got scared." He reflected. "We'll never know."

"Hm scared." John mumbled to himself. "This is Sherlock, he never got scared, I mean except this ones. God he was actually scared. Greg, he was crying."

"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked suprised. "Crying? Are you sure."

John didn't answer but just looked out in the air. "He didn't want to jump." he finally stated. "But what could possible scare him like that? the very end of the world wouldn't scare him, I can't come up with a single thing Morriaty could have said or done that would really scare, Sherlock didn't ever scare.. It just doesn't fit."

"You knew him the best." Lestrade pointed out.

"Exactly, and it doesn't fit that he would jump, because it's stupid. And even if Sherlock didn't care if other people thought he was stupid, he would suddenly never stoop to becoming stupid himself." John told. "It's completely out of character for him. It goes against every-thing he was, every-thing that's smart and not stupid, but then again." He glanced at the dark spot Morriaty had fallen on. "That was what Morriaty wanted, he could have killed Sherlock at any time, but it wasn't enough for him.. he wanted Sherlock to fall, in every sense of the word. But.."

"But what?" Lestrade asked.

"Moriaty died to, he committed suicide. Why? It's just as stupid when he does it." John frowned annoyed looking at the spot. "Why?" he asked again.

"I got the how's none of the why's." Lestrade confessed truthfully. "Why would Moriaty even go through such lengths? Why not just shoot Sherlock."

"The same reasons Sherlock kept taking up cases." John responded. "He was bored out of his mind, and he couldn't stand being bored, he found a game worthy of himself bringing Sherlock down, and man did he manage to screw things up." He told glancing up at the place where Sherlock stood. "He actually managed to turn Sherlock really stupid."

"How so?" Lestrade asked.

"One of the last things Sherlock said to me, over the phone." John started explaining. "He tried to convince me he was a froth, trying to explain away how he knew every-thing about me upon our first meeting by having re-searched me before we met, there's just one problem." John sighed sitting down on a door step.

"And that is?" Lestrade asked pulling up a cigarrete and stuffed it in his mouth.

"He didn't even know I existed before we met, now how would he be able to re-search me if he didn't even know I existed?" John asked as Lestrade offered him a cigarette. "No thanks, I'm a doctor, I learned why not to smoke." John pushed the cigarette away before going back to his prior speech "The way he described me is not the way a man who re-searches and re-remembers would, he actually explained exactly where all the information came from. And he even did a mistakes, he thought Harry was my brother and not sister, if he had found out by re-search, no way to make that particular mistake, easier to make the mistake of how I felt about her." John sighed deeply. "And then there's the tons and tons of other people, a dozen people a day, he knows every-thing about just by looking at them, things not even their nearest friends knows, now that would take a hell of a lot of re-search. Even he must have known I have far to many facts and proofs to know he can't be possible be a frot" he finished in a tired exhausted voice.

"True." Lestrade told lighting up his cigarette. "And even if he got all that personal information via re-search and not by looking at people, it would still make him the god damn best detective in history."

John turned around and looked up at Lestrade with an lifted eye-brow.

"Well fair is fair isn't it?" Lestrade asked blowing out a cloud of smoke. "He was the god damn best detective in history."

John nodded turning back. "True.. true." He absently mumbled.

"So?" Lestrade asked blowing out another smoke cloud. "Found any of the answers?" he asked.

"Not a single one." John told honestly. "And I know Sherlock would be ashamed." He muttered scratching his neck.

"Well, as he so fondly liked to say, we are all stupid." Lestrade sighed deeply. "John, you are a military man, hasn't it crossed your mind that maybe there just aren't any answers?" he asked. "When I was still a rookie I asked myself 'why' so many times out in the field. When uncovering the murders, finding criminals, dads who had taken the children, daughters whom deceived their folks, so much dirt out there, and so few things making sense. Well for us any-way, but that's just because we are stupid apparently."

"Hm." John nodded tiredly. "But suicide Greg?"

"You know how many suicides that happens each day in this city?" Greg then asked.

"Do I want to know?" John asked.

"No." Lestrade asked. "But for the sake of argument, roughly there happens one new suicide each day in this city alone, in the month of December it rises to roughly three a day, and that is in this city alone." he stated. "Few of those are ever explained." he told. "So it doesn't have to make sense. Usually these sort of people believe the world would be better off without them, they feel unlike and unwanted, truthfully, Sherlocks Emo fits well with a supposed suicider. A mental disease, formerly used drugs to escape reality, easily depressed, catatonic mood swings. Frankly had this happened last year I wouldn't be surprised at all."

"Why does it surprise you know then?" John asked.

"These sort of people often do it because they believe no one needs them, not really." Lestrade sighed. "But you some-how managed to become his friend."

"He is not the first of my friends to commit suicide though." John then confessed. "out in the field.. in Aughanistan." he started slowly. "Some-time it just got to much for some people, they couldn't take it any-longer." he sighed deeply. "The biggest danger sign was though, that the second the decision was taken, for them to kill themselves I mean.. all sorrows would be lifted from their shoulders, they would be relieved and look forward to it. Suddenly having all the energy and surplus in the world. Sherlock was not like that, in fact he was more burdened than ever. He didn't want to die." John then finished.

"Seems like Sherlock finally became human." Lestrade shook his head. "What a pity." he muttered. "I don't know if it counts for much, but I know he was not a froth John, and I am sorry to see that man go. I really am."

Sighing Watson shook his head raising up. "Well, better be going." He stated clearing his throat as he headed fro the door.

"John." Lestrade stopped him on the way out. "You know as well as I do, life mercilessly go on."

John stopped and then nodded in a sigh. "Yeas I know." He answered.

"Maybe this is your chance to finally have a real life going, you have to admit you couldn't when hanging around with Sherlock, find a nice lady and make it work this time John, I can't think of any-one who deserves it more." Lestrade told honestly.

"Thank you… I suppose." John hesitated and took a step more towards the door.

"And if you ever need any-thing John, a friend perhaps."

At that John turned his head around as he opened the door. "I'll just need to call you, got it." He answered. "Well, if I play my cards right at least I wont ever lack any-thing again, I have the telephon number of the most powerful man in britten, and he owes me boundless of favours, so really, you don't need to worry."

At that Lestrade frowned slightly. "Who's the most powerful man in Britten?" he asked genuinely confused. "You know the prime minister?"

Amused John shook his head. "Wouldn't you know it, Sherlocks elder brother."

"Sherlock have an elder brother?" Lestrade blinked astounded. "He never told."

"He never handed out any information unless it was directly linked to a case." Watson rolled his eyes. "Mycroft was the one keeping probing in through me, I'm afraid that I am head deep down into this business." He told going through the door. "All though." Watson halted looking back. "Finding a good woman sounds rather nice." He admitted. "I'll have to think about it."

"Please do." Lestrade returned throwing his cigarette on the ground and then stepped on it. "Life always go on John."

"Yeas." John sighed closing the door. "Yeas it does." He mumbled, hunched and with bowed head slowly walking away.

Three yeas after, yeas life had gone on, whether people wanted to a not. The myth of Sherlock had in some way ceased and in some-ways just grown completely out of propositions!

Thankfully, with Johns down to eat boring appearance and presence, he was usually left out of it, which he was only to thankful.

It hadn't taken long for him to find some-one, John hated to admit it, but if there was one thing he could not stand, and was very bad at, it was being alone. It was not that he craved attention or any-thing like that, he just could not withstand being alone, coming home to a silent empty flat where nothing had changed, being answered by nothing, having nothing to distract him, for other people that was peace but for him it was hell! No one but him really knew that about himself, but if they did people probably wouldn't have been as prudent to say. "Wow, that was quick." And then repeat it as John very quickly married the young woman.

His wife was absolutely lovely.

Pretty, calm, patient, intelligent but not in a show-off way, in fact she was rather modest, humble and quiet. Always understanding and patient, always there, very predictable in her daily routine. So unlike certain other people one might could mention.

Her name was Mary, beforehand Mary Morstan now Mary Watson. She was the picture of prettiness and loveliness, soft welcoming features, golden hair, blue eyes and pale skin, she worked as a florist and had her own little shop. It probably wasn't to far fetched that people kept on calling her "Little lamb."

She was just what Watson needed, or so his therapist, a calm person just to be there for him, to come home to. And man was Watson feeling rest less!

He shouldn't, his life now was perfect! His job stable, his wife nice and pure, their house lovely, their area peaceful, a bit to often Watson found himself wishing a bomb would just explode and do some-thing about all of this peacefulness. And he felt so ashamed of even thinking that as he groaned very early in the morning was standing in his own bedroom, facing the window will rubbing his face.

"Honey?" Marys groggy sounded from the bed and took John out of his stream of thoughts. "Trouble sleeping again honey?" she asked slightly concerned. "Please come back into bed." she invited by an open arm. "I'll warm you." she smiled just a little mischievously.

John tried to refrain from groaning by the thought of having to crawl back and spend another two hours laying there in silence. "Oh it's fine." John stated at ones. "You know, why don't I make you some coffee?" he asked suddenly as he got the idea. "And warm some bread! breakfast in bed!" he was almost halfway out the door as Mary's groaning voice responded.

"John, I am not the one needing relaxing, you are itching, do try and relax, then I'll make breakfast." she insisted. "Then you can be relaxed to spend the rest of the day with me instead of falling a sleep. You had a rather long day yesterday." Mary yawned as she stepped out of bed. "Actually you do seem to be over-worked, we should do some-thing about that." She stated.

"Like what?" John asked as Mary passed him and lightly kissed him on the cheek in a good morning greeting.

"Call the hospital, tell them you need a little fewer hours." Mary responded as she entered the kitchen and filled the kettle with water.

"Oh no don't do that!" John stated at ones. "I mean." He bit his lip. "No I'm fine." He sighed.

"Some-times it just doesn't seem like you are here at all." Mary sighed shovelling coffee beans in the coffee maker. "I mean, you are here of cause, you do so much for me, but your mind wanders so much off I wish you would just tell me what is going on in that funny head of yours."

"Oh, nothing much." John assured. "Nothing much at all." he stated tiptoeing in his pyjamas.

"John I love you, but I do wish you would open more up to me." Mary muttered a little sourly. "You are doing it again."

"doing what?" John asked.

"Trying to convince me that nothing is wrong." Mary told back just a little sourly which in her was rather surprising.

Ashamed John blushed as he looked down. "I'm sorry." He muttered.

"Oh John you are impossible." Mary amused shook her head going back to him through the door. "What am I supposed to do with you? I can't tell every-thing you have been up to by just looking at you, you will have to tell me, just ones in a while." she informed now standing right in front of him, looking up at him with those big blue deer eyes of hers.

John blinked. "Erh." He hesitated. "No I suppose not." He then admitted a little shameful. "I promise I'll try in the future, right now, can we just... have breakfast and enjoy what a nice day it is?" he asked sneaking an arm around his wifes waist, drawing her a little closer to him.

"Oh all right, if you really insist upon keep on squirming out of it like this." Mary smiled amused and tiptoed to give him a quick kiss on the lips, before returning to the kitchen. "We'll have a nice day of just relaxing." she stated.

John though could not rest, he hated to admit it, but he was rest-less. As he so often was.. Mary was right, he was over-worked, but not because the hospital over-worked him, in fact they tried to relieve him from hours, it was him who kept on taking on the hours, staying there trying to be distracted. Out of his own wishes he had started going on the ambulances, just so he could feel the rush of a quick emergency situation, running and working fast and in the moment, and when it was gone he was ashamed of himself for being obviously addicted to the rush, yet itching for the next emergencie to come.

He had been neglecting Mary, she was one of the kindest sweetest things on this earth, ready to be patient and standing by him, and yet even though there was no Sherlock to distract him, John was quite good at blowing his wife off.

He didn't in the beginning, in the beginning John had been genuinely interested and there for Mary, but their relationship, at least for him had grown... predictable. And his own neglect now it was getting worse and worse, for them just to sit like this was, well, an rarity. And yet John secretly wished for some kind of disaster to happen, some-one to come bring him some news. To shake some-thing up. ANYTHING!

"John, aren't you in bed yet." Mary asked amused as she stood in the door with a tea tray. "Up with you! I have a surprise for you!"

"Is that so?" John asked as he slightly lifted an eye-brow before at last crawling up in bed, looking perspectively at Mary.

"I got chocolate scones!" Mary enthusiastically presented. "Bet I managed to surprise you there, I got them yesterday from the baker and saved them for now."

"Oh erhm.." John cleared his throat forcing out a smile. "What a surprise." he smiled through his teeth's. "I sure didn't see that coming."

Mary merely laughed, quite wrongly having mistaken his forced mask for genuine surprise and crawled up to her husband, snuggling into his arms, while Johns mind silently prayed for some-thing to do some-thing about this little nightmare while the other part of him was yelling annoyed that it was wrong of him to feel like that at all.

* * *

><p><em>AN; and well, my theory is that Watson will be really really angry with Sherlock the day he finds out Sherlock is actually alive, I didn't want to spend to much time focusing on it here, but honestly I both think and kind of hope that Watson will chase Sherlock down, perhaps in a extended angry chase scene through London, tackle the bastard and pin Sherlock to the ground demanding an explanation, and well.. swearing to kill him. "I'm gonna kill him" please oh please let him say it. <em>

_... What? Watson have bad days! And he seemed really happy about beating the shit out of Sherlock in "Scandal in Belgravia." .. in fact, he quite often looks like he would like to beat the shit out of Sherlock. _

_Don't you just love this sort of bromance? :D ahh, sweet love._


	2. Chapter 2

_An; well.. I realised there's another side to this. I would expect the show to take John as our main character and we'll find out what happened to Sherlock through him. Well, this is fanfiction, and this side of the story is interesting. Sherlocks side!_

_Yeah, I wrote another version where Mycroft fetched John making John go look for Sherlock, but I realised Mycroft wouldn't do that. Also did I suddenly realise, he actually does wear a wedding ring in all scenes we have ever seen him in. So he gotta be married, which I could very well imagine. Also there's the fact that Sherlock Holmes in the original short stories did indeed.. go to his brother. So I assume the show is going to do something similar, some-times they are actually ridiculously faithful to the novels.. until they use an I-phone that is..  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>The day after the fall; <em>

After a very long tiring day, after having had to answer question after question, about his little brother. The froth.

Mycroft felt like snorting, what _idiots!_ the signs of deduction was the most simple of all things, he could do it. In fact, he was even better at it than Sherlock was! Mycrod had simply just never shared Sherlocks restlessness or need to be in the action. Mycroft did indeed prefer the silent so called boring life.

A good news-paper, an old cognac, a comfortable living situation and a appreciating wife. That was all he asked! Why was that so hard?

Mycroft was only way to happy to enter his own private home, the large pent house apartment in central London, large and comfortable, designed to suit any need imaginable. He was even thankful that his wife was currently abroad, Mycroft didn't believe he could withstand any-more questions that day!

How-ever, the second Mycroft was in his entrance, he noticed the changes.. soft foot prints on the carpet, to large to be a womans, so it couldn't be his wife coming home early. To fresh to be from the morning, so it couldn't be his own, beside it was half a number smaller than his own shoe seize. A draft which could only have come from an opened door slightly moving the papers on the table, and some-one had carelessly picked up the porcelain dog and put it back, it had moved by half an inch. Furthermore, this person hadn't left, the door had only opened ones and very shortly, it couldn't be a burglar as a burglar would be this neat and clean in his actions.

The light in the pent house was not turned on, thus this intruder were trying to hide in his home. Mycroft crooked an eye-brow as he lifted his head, the intruder was in his living room, and then a smile spread on Mycrofts lips, he almost felt like chuckling as he casually turned up the light in the entrance, hung up his coat on the rag and left his umbrella standing up against the wall. "It's rude to break into peoples private homes Sherlock." he called over his shoulder.

For some seconds there was silence, until Sherlocks deep unique baritone voice responded. "Come now, visiting a brother is hardly a break in." he stated.

At last Mycroft stepped into the living room and simply turned on the light, to be faced with an extremely pall looking Sherlock looking right back at him.

"Why Sherlock, you look like death." Mycroft commented on Sherlocks pretty ghastly look, for that it was. There was no colours in Sherlocks cheeks, his hair looked unkempt, his eyes a little unfocused, his posture exhausted. He actually looked both ill and a little dead, lacking the usual energy that would always be a constant in this person.

In return Sherlock merely send a grimace. almost a sarcastic smile. "How delicate you can put it Mycroft." he stated in a sarcastic tone. "Aren't you going to express your happiness in seeing me?" he asked.

Mycroft exhaled. "Do you have any idea what you have done?" he asked. "I can hardly show my face in the club, at ones people at work started to question _my _intellect, then I was blamed for covering over you. If it wasn't because they needed me so badly, I would be ruined. And now." he then told sternly looking at Sherlock with eyes as stern as his voice. "Now of all times, when you are out of options and you know it, now is the time you come crawling to me for help?" he asked with a lifted eye-brow. "Expecting me to just, cover for you for real this time, helping you without question! after you brought me all of this distress?" he asked.

"If you would be so kind." Sherlock smiled back at him.

For a moment Mycroft looked very sternly at Sherlock, for some seconds it looked like they had a battle going on of who could be the most stern and annoyned, until at last Mycroft became amused and shook his head while sitting down in his favourite chair, folding his hands looking at Sherlock still with that lightly amused face on. "I hope you know you actually had me scared there." he told. "Congratulations Sherlock, you managed it. You fooled every-one" he told. "Even me, but only for a minor second. John how-ever, indeed in deep grief. You are now dead the world!" he stated.

Suddenly Sherlock took on a staggering breath as if he had lost some of his strenghts and needed to

"But I suppose that doesn't matter to you." Mycroft stated lazedly reaching for a cognac glass very conveniently placed close to his chair where he could reach it without having to stretch himself, at all. "Or.. is that how Moriarty finally got to you?" he asked out loud looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't answer, merely turned around so he was facing the window, his hands firmly folded on his back.

"My word I believe it is." Mycroft smiled to himself filling up in two glasses. "So it happened after all, my cold brother, lost because if his heart. You're a hero Sherlock."

"The world.." Sherlock began in a snapping voice but was cut off by Mycroft.

"Doesn't have heroes." Mycroft nodded. "But what is a hero really Sherlock?" he asked. "According to several mythologies and so on, a true he would be a person selflessly sacrificing every-thing for other people. Some people would may even call you an..."

"Don't you ever _dare_ to call me an _angel!_" Sherlock snapped spooning around facing Mycroft again, this time his eyes genuinely looking angry, maybe even downright furious.

"Very well then." Mycroft shrugged not even reacting to his brothers sudden outburst. "Cognac?" he asked reaching a glass towards his younger brother. "You do seem like one who needs it." he commented shortly looking Sherlock over.

Sherlock groaned, but finally, how-ever reluctantly just took the glass and sat down the chair opposite Mycroft, but was actually down right pouting as he half laid half sat in the chair.

"For heroes?" Mycroft asked raising his glass in a toast.

Sherlock merely muttered annoyed, barely rising the glass to meet the toast, and then just swallowed half the glass in one go. "So are you going to help me or what?" he asked sourly.

"Helping you how?" Mycroft asked.

"Oh come on you figured within a second." Sherlock grumbed.

"I'm sorry, you'll have to explain it to me." Mycroft merely blinked in a tone that would ordinarily have been very polite.

"I _need_ to life!" Sherlock stated annoyed crossing his arms.

"No." Mycroft corrected him. "You need to disappear, you're dead Sherlock."

At that Sherlock glared at him in return, before swallowing the rest of the golden cognac.

"What I mean is, Sherlock Holmes, the grant detective, is dead." Mycroft went on explaining. "You can't do any cases any-more, not even the little ones. You'll have to control your restlessness instead of exploiting it, all of your small adventures, amusing as I assume they must have been, are over. You can't contact any former associates, you can't go back, in any way."

_"Don't you think I know that!_" Sherlock snapped annoyed defensively crossing his arms. "I knew that long before I jumped! even before Moriarty got me up there." he stated darkly sinking even deeper into the chair. "But I still need to survive! I wont let him win that stupid game of his!" Sherlock hissed. "If I die now, he'll won any-way. I can't allow that to happen." he stated darkly.

"So it's for a game not for your friends you've decided to stay alive after all?" Mycroft asked slightly amused.

"What difference does it make any-way when I can't see them." Sherlock muttered. "And what is the point of living when it's now doomed to become a constant flow of boredom?" he asked deeply annoyed. "But he wont get the better of me, he wont." Sherlock gritted, almost sneered. "Moriartys last game, shall become a failure, I'll stay alive."

"hm, so pride it is. And I who thought you had actually grown." Mycroft sighed rather deeply. "But oh well, since you are my only brother." he commented folding his own hands. "You'll need a new identity, I can get you the papers and passport, I can sustain you, but it'll may cost you later."

"What-ever." Sherlock waved him off. "You very well know I have no other options."

"it'll probably be ideal for you to change appearance." Mycroft mused. "Change your hair, grow a beard."

"yeas-yeas I know." Sherlock grunted impatiently.

"And well, go abroad and try to stay out of trouble." Mycroft smiled pleasantly. "I hear Spain is lovely this time of year."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Eager to get rid of me?" he asked.

"Oh no." Mycroft replied. "But I would hate to give any-one reason to question your demise to be less permanent than what is believed." he stated. "Some-how I also guess that would undermine this entire tirade."

"how nice of you to consider my well being." Sherlock replied in a bitter sarcastic voice clearly not even meaning as much as a word.

"Now now Sherlock." Mycroft lifted a lecturing hand. "Don't bite the hand that will be feeding you for the next couple of years." he stated.

"And I suppose this fits you just fine?" Sherlock muttered."Me dependent on you, oh it must feel good for you."

"Well, it would be nice to get a little thanks for ones." Mycroft returned sharply. "Appreciation Sherlock, it would suit you to try it. I am after-all, ensuring that you can life quite pleasantly if you like." he informed sternly. "Is there any-thing else? Dear brother?" he asked, just a little impatiently.

"in fact there is." Sherlock shoot in quite quickly.

"Oh?" Mycroft asked.

"My flat.. I mean, John and my flat." Sherlock told. "would you be kind enough to sustain it?" he asked. "Just, give Hudson the monthly fee and make sure no one touches any-thing in there."

"That would be considered a little odd." Mycroft commented.

"Normal people do all kinds of odd things out of sentiment don't they?" Sherlock asked waving the question away.

"Why would you want me to do that?" Mycroft asked. "Planning a return?" he asked.

"If I get a chance to clear my name." Sherlock stated. "Moriarty will have lost on all accounts, I hope the time will be right one day."

"Well, that seems a little naive." Mycroft commented. "But then again, you were always for good fairytales weren't you?" Mycroft asked. "All right, I'll indulge you. but on only one condition."

"What?" Sherlock.

"Be a grown up for ones and ask like a gentleman, ask me nicely." Mycroft stated a little sternly.

Astounded Sherlock sat back, and then annoyed bit his lip, mumbling some incoherent words.

"What was that?" Mycroft asked in a slight smile. "I'm sorry, would you repeat that a little louder?" he asked.

Sherlock groaned. "Would you _please _help me and sustain my flat?" he asked.

"There, that wasn't so hard was it?" Mycroft asked only for Sherlock to grumble in sour response. "Why you would ever life in that small old thing I'll never understand." Mycroft then admitted. "I mean, you could so easily afford bigger, by just taking a bigger case now and then. Don't worry I wont tell John." he almost winked. "But I wish you well in your retirement dear little brother! and I hope you'll learn to joy of relaxing." he raised his glass in a salut.

"So I can grow fat and lazy like you?" Sherlock grumbled to himself.

"What was that?" Mycroft asked.

"Thank you very much dear brother, you are so very kind to me." Sherlock answered in a fake smile.

And very shortly after that.. Sherlock was gone from there to, out of Mycrofts life, out of every-bodies life. Very suddenly he had just gone away, mysteriously vanished into the crowds.

For Mycroft as well, 3 years easily passed by. Though for him nothing much changed, which was to his own preferring, some-how he ended up gaining weight again, to his great annoyance. All though that was the only indicator for him that time had passed at all. All kind of high powered important people came to him with their problems of national magnitude, he would think of a solution, some-one else would ensure it. Some-times Mycroft would take a big decision for the entire government, but only for the betterment of the state. And easily he got all what he needed, he could still spend the most of his time in the club, drinking his cognac and reading his news-papers. No reason to be over exited.

If it was easy for him to be over-exited at all, it would take more than the end of the world to startle Mycroft Holmes, and thus his only reaction upon meeting what looked like a cave-man in his living room merely provoked and "oh." from him.

The man standing there was a very strange sight to behold, he had a very long tangled hair, supposedly black but it was so dirty that if you didn't know what colour it normally had, you would never know it now. That tangled mess was going all the way down to the mans shoulders, Then there was an euqally tangled dirty bear to match going well down to the chest, clearly not having been trimmed for as long as the man had been growing it. His clothes were second hand a quite the dis-array, with worn out jeans, a lumberjack shirt, a long patched up brown coat. The mans skin were not just pale, it was white and matt lacking any kind of glow, from the state of the eyes and the unhealthy looking skin, Mycroft could only way to easily deduce this was a man who had been on drugs quite recently, and to judge from the skinny unhealthy frame, this man had been using drugs as a substitute for real food for quite some time, the pupils refusing to retract as fast as normally would be from the sudden turned on light told Mycroft morphine, yet the skin lacking moisture told another story about cocaine, neither of which really surprised Mycroft as it wouldn't the first time this man used either. The yellow finger nails easily told Mycroft that this man could smoke an entire package of cigarettes a day did he feel like it, maybe even two packages of cigarettes. All in all, this man had just been living a very unhealthy way with messed up sleeping routines, even more messed up eating habits and then of cause there was the drug abuse. And you didn't have to be a genuis to tell from the ungodly smell that this man just hadn't taken good care of himself, _at all! _

"Sherlock really?" Mycroft asked. "I gave you quite enough to sustain you quite comfortably in any way you could have wanted, and if you needed more I was only a phone-call away." he stated sitting down in his chair drawing ford a news-paper.

"Aren't you going to ask me what I am doing here?" Sherlock asked annoyed.

"No, as I all ready know that seems rather pointless doesn't it?" Mycroft asked not even looking at Sherlock but merely flipped a page. "You think you found a way to clear your name _and_ get rid of the people targeting John, Mrs. Hudson and inspector Lestrade." he stated very simply.

"Actually there's only one left." Sherlock corrected.

"Oh?" Mycroft asked in a lifted eye-brow.

"The Russian one got tired of waiting, returned to Russia where she is now pregnant, she even married the father, and is thus now starting a family, her priorities having certainly changed." Sherlock informed. "She even changed name and identity to get out of business. Then there's the Arabian guy, I guess I kind of killed him."

That at last forced an reaction from Mycroft as he laid down the news-paper looking sternly at Sherlock.

"It was an accident! I didn't deliberately murder_ any-one._" Sherlock exclaimed with wide spread out arms. "I am trying to proof that I am not a Murder not become one! Beside, that man had all ready killed dozens of people and would have killed a dozens more!"

"All right, all right, very well." Mycroft shook his head lifting the news-paper ones again. "I get all of that, the only thing I am not getting is what you are doing here Sherlock, if it was to ask finances I would have guessed you would merely have texted."

"Shower." Sherlock stated shortly. "I can't walk any-where without people walking circles around me, making a huge gap with me visible in the middle. The shops either wont let me in and or they'll kick me out when they discover I am there, making it difficult to even buy decent clothes and a shave. The cabs wont even take me." he exclaimed annoyed. "One should think I had turned into a contagious monster."

"Well, I suppose you do smell rather foul." Mycroft wrinkled his nose in disgust actually lifting a handkerchief to his nose."If you weren't my brother I would throw you out to, it is rather disgraceful." he stated before giving out instructions. "The hall-way behind you, third door to the left, try not to leave a mess." Mycroft told without laying down the news-paper.

Sherlock didn't answer but merely turned around on his way towards the destination.

"Oh and please don't bother putting those rags back on." Mycroft lazedly gestured.

"You rather want me to walk around naked in your apartment?" Sherlock asked pleasantly. "it'll makes no difference to me." he made aware.

"Don't be absurd." Mycroft shook his head. "I'll get the house keeper to find some-thing for you. Please take your time, it seems like you need a thorough scrubbing by the very least"

Sherlock bit back, clearly refraining to shoot back a comment about Mycrofts laziness and with resolute firm steps wandered down the hall way.

It took him three full hours to come out of that bathroom again, as he did he was wearing a stolen dark red bath robe, no doubt Mycrofts personal bath robe, and a pair of borrowed slippers.. probably also Mycrofts's. His skin clean though still clearly not healthy, and getting rid of the dirt it was more obviouse by looking at his face how under weight he was, his cheeks were sunken in, his eyes tired. The beard had gone missing and the hair, though messily cut, a whole lot shorter, which just went to prove how bad Sherlock still looked.

It didn't look like Mycroft had even moved from the spot of his own comfortable chair, only change was that the news paper had been exchanged for a book. 'A midsummers night dream.' by Shakespeare to be exact and the other change was the pile of clothes laying on the table behind Mycroft. "Well, you sure look a whole lot more recognisable now." Mycroft commented without even looking up from the book. "are you quite sure getting rid of the beard was such a good idea?" he asked pleasantly.

"I've been dead for three years, I do think the number of people whom would recognise me instantly is rather limited." Sherlock grimaced.

"I think every-body you worked for would recognise you very quickly." Mycroft stated back, still without lifting his eyes from the book. "People whom are remembered as annoying often leaves a far greater imprint in peoples memory."

"I'll wear a cap or some-thing!" Sherlock muttered moving towards the pile of clothes, at ones throwing away the tie which laid on top of it. "Don't you have a scarf or some-thing like that?" Sherlock asked critically looking the actually rather neat quality clothes over.

"Not a scarf user." Mycroft reminded Sherlock. "You can lend one of my wifes's if you promise to give it back."

"There are small cats on all of her scarfs!" Sherlock complained despite the fact the only way he could ever have had a look at Mrs. Holmes scarfs, would be by the short passing of the entrance hall.

"Take it or leave it." Mycroft shrugged, before blinking. "Did you use my cologne?" he asked in annoyed frown.

"Yeah, so?" Sherlock asked holding up a white shirt.

"Honestly Sherlock." Mycroft groaned finally laying down his book.

"Just trying to appear my best for where I am going." Sherlock shrugged without giving Mycroft as much as a glance.

"Oh, and where might that be?" Mycroft asked now obviously starting to become annoyed.

"Private affairs." Sherlock sighed while jumping into a pair of a bit to big pants.

"Oh come now!" Mycroft demanded. "At least you can tell me what's going on." he stated.

"Well, I've been away from London for a while, there's a place I am going, and I want to look my best." Sherlock smiled pleasantly before his face returned to his usual none-emotional mask as he buttoned the trousers. "Do you have a belt?" he then asked as predictable enough the trousers hopelessly fell down his quite frankly right now, unnaturally skinny frame.

"In the pile." Mycroft shook his head.

"Oh." Sherlock merely responded looking at the pile ones again where quite clearly and obviously a belt was laying on top of all of it, very quickly he was dressed and looked surprisingly well groomed, with a kitty scarf and every-thing. "Well, this has been very nice and pleasant indeed." Sherlock smiled shortly. "I shan't intrude any-longer, good day!" he stated and without warning turned around to head for the exit as if it had been the most normal thing ever that had just happened, and he had all rights to go.

"_Sherlock._" Mycrofts stern voice called him back.

Sherlock stopped where he stood and groaned, finally turning around again. "What?" he asked annoyed.

"Why can't you just admit it?" Mycroft asked.

"Admit what?" Sherlock asked as if he didn't know what Mycroft was talking about.

"You were extremely lucky here." Mycroft stated. "Lucky that I was here, lucky that I was willing to help you at all." he told a little sternly.

"What is it you want?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Admit it!" Mycroft stated. "You needed me, in fact there's been several times in the past you needed me."

"So, you needed me as well!" Sherlock stated.

"Not nearly as badly as you needed me." Mycroft stated firmly. "How difficult is it for you to be thank full?"

"Very!" Sherlock exclaimed. "When you are the only reason I had to do all of this at all!" he muttered. "You're the one who made it possible for Moriarty to even set up that plan!" he stated. "You are the reason I had to jump at all, the reason I _had_ to _die!_" he stated sourly. "I'll consider this a fraction of what you owe _me_ not the other way around. Oh yeas I found out." Sherlock told back to Mycrofts surprised face. "Are you really that surprised I found out?"

"No I suppose not." Mycroft sighed.

"It was so easy to deduce." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Where on earth else would Moriarty have gotten that kind of information?" he asked sourly. "In fact, you may even only helped me as much as you did simply because you felt guilty." Sherlock snorted. "Don't expect me to thankful that easily." he told furiously looking very angrily at his brother. "Can I go now?" he then asked in a impatient sour tone. "Or is there more ways for you to destroy my life?" he asked.

"Sherlock don't be so childish." Mycroft rolled his eyes.

Sherlock merely snorted. "Believe it or not! I actually _do _want to life! and I want _my life_ back!" he told. "If you hadn't been so careless and messed up so badly I would never had to give it up in the first place!" he stated furiously before turning around stomping out with heavy steps that echoed through the entire pent house.

"Oh, and do try to stay out of trouble wont you? Where-ever you intend to go all.. shined up, I hope for your sake you thought it through." Mycroft asked lifting his book ones again.

This time how-ever, Sherlock didn't answer but walked out almost slamming the door after him, making some of the apartment shake.


	3. Chapter 3

_An; to people who follow this story.. I rewrote both chapter one and two, almost completely.. you may want to look that over again._

* * *

><p>The three years that had gone past for Mrs. Hudson had been.. exceptionally quiet.<p>

Without having any real tenants she had actually received twice the amount of rent as she usually would have, on the one single condition that she didn't move any-thing in Sherlock Holmes's old apartment, in fact she wasn't even allowed to go in there. The only thing she could do was just keep the only key safe.

With this easy income now being transferred to her bank account each month, Mrs. Hudson could finally do what-ever she pleased, living the life as many pensioners who had saved up through their long life did. She could go on those vacations she never had before, buy those nice clothes and try the more fine tea. But to be honest, Mrs. Hudson had never been a person asking much. And even though she at first had taken this opportunity she soon had left it and merely stayed at her own place going on with her own rather dull quiet life.

The high light of the three years passed by was without a doubt being invited to John Watsons wedding, for the single reason that it was an excuse to see the dear doctor ones again, and even at a day of happiness to.

But then that had sunk into the ground as well, John Watson was a man very badly at keeping up social contacts and Mrs. Hudson having been raised on good old fashioned moral values did not want to disturb a new founded family. She had made sure to make John aware that if he ever needed a baby sitter, she would be over joyed to apply. To which John had responded with a grimace and a obviously fake smile, thanking her for the consideration.

This Wednesday was as any other Wednesday in Mrs. Hudsons quiet life, she could go a rout to her other renters, asking if every-thing was okay, tidy up her own little flat, put over a pot of chicken soup to simmer so it would be as tasty as possible ones the evening arrived, make some tea for the afternoon. It was all very relaxing and easy. Not like does days where she had to life in constant fear of the ceiling right above her exploding or crashing down for some unpredictable reason.

It was in fact right over her head Sherlock Holmes's apartment was, obviously it was very quiet now, but back in time you could always tell whether Sherlock was at home or not, because if he was home, the noise would be constant and loud. John was more difficult to pin point though, as he had always been a very quiet humble man.

Mrs. Hudson sighed as she poured up some tea in her cup for her afternoon break and sat down on her kitchen chair, blowing on her tear before lifting the cup to her lips. That was the exact moment she noticed, some-thing very peculiar. The apartment above her was supposed to be dead silence, but now there were small tappings up there, like.. food steps? Mrs. Hudson blinked setting down her cup trying to sharpen her ears for any more noise, then suddenly a loud crash sounded from up there. "Good heavens!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed standing up. Some-one was in Sherlocks apartment! turning the place maybe even! Mrs. Hudson didn't even hesitate to spring for the door tp stop who-ever was up there, there was no way any burglars would be allowed to touch any of all of those things preserved so carefully! not as long as she had any-thing to say about it!

Surprisingly fast, especially considering her age, Mrs. Hudson sprinted up the stairs, her key all-ready ready at hand, though as she neared the right door, it was obvious her own key was of little value, because the door stood right open. "Of all the." frustrated Mrs. Hudson shook her head obvious fury building up inside of her and escaping her otherwise normally gentle eyes, then that same fury just doubled as another big crash sounded from within the apartment. "No this is to much!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed loudly and without hesitation or any re-precautions for any supposed danger just walked right in. "What do you think you're doing?" she yelled aiming for the living room, and almost jumped in fright as she actually saw a man standing in there, she hadn't quite thought as far as what to do when she confronted this burglar, and this man was tall as he just stood there with his back on her, Mrs. Hudson was just about to question her actions and yell for help. But then she discovered that the man was holding Sherlock's old violin, the fright Mrs. Hudson previously had was exchanged with anger within the second. "Young man." she stated sternly. _"Put that down!" _she demanded. "Right this instance!"

Surprised the man turned around and blinked a little wide-eyed at Mrs. Hudson.

All though, his surprise was nothing, _nothing_, compared to Mrs. Hudsons, her anger and fright was gone in a instant, instead there was shock, so big that it threatened to stop her heart and give her a heart attack. Mrs. Hudson let out a loud dtrange sound in her surprise, not quite a yell not quite a gasp, but just a big sound, as she held up her hands, pressing them against her mouth, looking wide-eyed at the intruder.

The man whom stood in front of her was a taller pale man, his hair was dark, almost black and curly, his eyes bluish light gray, very pale and always simmering with intelligence, even if they looked more dull than usual right now, his cheek bones pronounced and tall. "Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson at last spoke out loud in a broken voice as her own hysteria build up and she started to sniff.

At ones Sherlock put back his violin in the chair, and instead he hurried towards Mrs. Hudson, without any hesitation laying his arms around her in a genuine embrace, and as he did so, a genuine smile was priding his pall face. "Mrs. Hudson." he greeted her in a happy even a little shy voice. "You look well." he told as he tried to calm the old lady down, holding her lightly, his own state of mind obviously being a little different from what it usually was.

Mrs. Hudson let out a cry, and then continued crying into Sherlocks shoulder, sobbing in hysterics. "You clutch!" she cried. "How _dare_ you Sherlock?" she asked. "How dare you?" she asked again.

"Shh." Sherlock hushed her though not letting go. "Be as angry with me as you like, but try to relax, breath." he asked of her. "Believe it or not, I don't want you to collapse."

"Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson shook her head and was finally let go, only for her to take a step back looking up at Sherlocks face. "Look at you." she commented. "Here! back at the flat, I mean. Sherlock you look horrible." she stated. "How long since is it you had a decent meal?" she asked concerned.

"eating is boring." Sherlock informed in a slight smile. "But.. I do think I could stand some of your outstanding chicken soup, currently boiling at the stove down at your apartment."

"Sherlock I am not your House keeper, I was never your House keeper." Mrs. Hudson stated in a tearful voice as she shook her head. "But when you are kind enough to call my cooking outstanding, oh Sherlock." without thinking Mrs. Hudson grabbed Sherlocks face between her hands looking at him. "Who cares, I'm going to feed you up well this time, lord knows you need it. Look at you, look at you Sherlock Holmes. Man of miracles!" she stated. "Miracles and heart attacks!"

Sherlock chuckled smiling warmly at Mrs. Hudson, the warmth reaching all the way up to his eyes. Before he laughed and in a surprise attack lifted Mrs. Hudson up to swing her around one simple turn. "Oh I really _am _glad to be back!" he laughed before gently putting Mrs. Hudson down again.

"Come down and have some supper!" Mrs. Hudson then started at ones. "Come come quick!" she demanded hushing him out the door. "And how nice you look to Sherlock, all well groomed."

"It's a special occasion." Sherlock blinked. "It's not every-day a man comes back for good to clear the slade."

"So you are planning to stay?" Hudson asked.

Sherlock nodded, smiling at the elderly landlady as they entered her place. "Thank you for sustaining my flat so nicely." he told her.

"You're most welcome." Mrs. Hudson replied closing the door after him. "It'll be nice to have some life going up there again, why Sherlock, it was deader than a grave."

"I'll fix that." Sherlock promised. "Within time, for now. I'll just use the bed and bathroom when needed, I must ask you to keep this a secret. From now on, me being here, it's our little secret Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock winked at her.

"But Sherlock, John." Mrs. Hudson blinked.

"I'll tell him in due time." Sherlock promised. "I'm going to need him to clear my name." he told. "Don't worry mrs. Hudson, every-thing will soon be all right, you'll see." he promised.


	4. Chapter 4

For John Watson.. returning to London, even when it was only on vacation, was a bag of mixed feelings.

He had not been at central London for almost three years, some would maybe accuse him of running, John merely called it moving on, trying to get a real retirement from the war zone. There was reason he had been send home from Afghanistan.

People were not meant to be in a constant war zone, and in Johns case one of the first things that could happen had happened. He had become addicted to it! Nearly not able to life a prober life, it was still a struggle doing it. And that was Johns reason for not going to London or staying there.

And yet, it felt like coming home. It was like John belonged here in the crowded London with it's messed up systems, the street performers standing at the corners, the tons of tourists talking numerous of languages as they passed by. The integrates trying to sell phone cards, hand out coupon cards. Funny thing about central London, there were only very few true British men, by far the most were immigrates from other countries bringing different cultures with them. All sorts of cultures. It was a genuine mad house at every corner.

And for the first time in a long time, John felt like he was in an environment he could strive in.

He didn't mean for it to happen, he scolded himself for it, but he felt comfortable.

"Told you it was a good idea with a vacation." Mary smiled at him as they walked side by side down Oxford. Mary was actually caring a couple of badges as she had taken this opportunity to go shopping. Which was fine with John actually, he just liked to soaked in the city.

"All right, so you were maybe right." John smiled defeated laying an arm around Marys' shoulder.

"John, you are shining." Mary smiled happily. "That's been a while! I'll say you look completely different."

"urh." John blinked, then shook his head. "Well I suppose." He then admitted. "I feel good." he had to admit.

"That's wonderful." Mary answered gladly.

Neither of them had really kept track off where they were going, they had just gone down Oxford ford and ford, it was just suddenly John realised what street they had turned into, he blinked in shocked recognition, the drive in street with the apartments, the simple café just laying. "We are at Bakerstreet." John blinked stunned feeling his heart sink.

Confused Mary blinked, then looked up to find the street sign and responded. "It seems we are." She commented. "John, is some-thing the matter?" she asked looking up at her husband. "Is there some-thing special about Baker street?"

"It's urh.." John swallowed. "It's where I used to life." He then admitted. "Right over there." He pointed at a red door beside the café not very far from them. "Second floor, that window." He pointed up to a room which looked dark and quiet, drapes having been closed shut not allowing any glance inside.

"Then it's there Mrs. Hudson lives." Mary realised. "Oh John, we should go say hallo!"

"Should we?" John asked.

"Of cause, she seemed to be very fond of you at the wedding." Mary told. "It would be rude not to go say hallo and tell her we are fine." She informed.

At last John shoke his head, actually smiled. "All right." He then say. "You are quite correct, we should definitely go see her." He told warmly. "Come on." He lead Mary towards the right door and then as the gentleman he was, opened the door for her to let Mary step in, before he followed and simply went to the left, lightly knocking on the door and stood back.

Nothing happened at first, John shrugged and Mary shrugged back at him, then John merely knocked again a little harder, this time to have an immediate response.

"Coming coming!" Mrs. Hudsons voice sounded from the other side. "Always so impatient! There's still a good while to dinner, and I told you, you are not allowed to skip these meals!" was the final words as Mrs. Hudson opened the door only to blink surprised as John was clearly not the person she had expected. "John?" Mrs. Hudson blinked.

"Yeah, urm hey." John greeted. "I was just in the neighbourhood and Mary pointed out it would be rude not to pass by, but if you are expecting some-one else we'll be on our way, it's no trouble. We didn't mean to be trouble after all."

"Oh no, no trouble." Mrs. Hudson assured. "I was just.. surprised to see you." She blinked.

"Mrs. Hudson, are we being any inconvenience?" Mary then at last asked.

"I told you no once, didn't I dearest?" Mrs. Hudson then at last sighed, only to suddenly have a bang sounding from upstairs, as if some-body had stepped really hard on the floor. "All though we can't stay in here for long." Mrs. Hudson then sighed. "There'll be some people to look at the cockroach problem later, they'll prefer the place the be empty. You know those bloody cockroaches, impossible to get rid off, nearly can't kill em."

"Some big cockroach." John blinked looking upwards. "new renter?" he then asked pointing upwards.

"Ah.. yeas." Mrs. Hudson blinked nervously. "Quite recent actually. You know how it is in the city, people moving in and out all the time."

"And a smoker to." John commented waving his hand in front of his face. "I can smell it all the way out here in the hall way."

"Yeas.. quite the heavy smoker." Mrs. Hudson admitted. "I tried to tell him it was no good for him, but you know people, rarely they want to listen. Say, why don't we go out and have a nice cuppa some-where?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "There's this new place right around the corner, havn't seen it in a while."

"Sounds lovely." John commented absently looking upwards, up at the ceiling where his old flat were, now apparently occupied by a new tenant.

"Come along." Mrs. Hudson gestured all ready standing by the other door in her coat. "Lets not waste time."

For another second John looked upwards with squinted eyes, clearly in deep thought but then at last shrugged and followed the two ladies out, only to glance up at the draped window ones again, to discover a little bit of the drape was pushed aside, you couldn't possible see what was on the other side from down at where John stood, but some-one on the other side on the drape would be able to see him, for some moments he looked thoughtfully at the place, until at last who-ever held the drape let go, letting the drape fall into place.

It was a most lovely afternoon Mrs. Hudson had spend with John and Mary, the three of them having a good time, John and Mrs. Hudson catching up, though neither had that much new to tell about since the wedding, and it wasn't to long before Mrs. Hudson excused herself, force feeding a certain former detective being in the forefront of her mouth.

As Mrs. Hudson hurried home she immediately ran up the stairs to the upper apartment, only to be met by a world of smoke inside, it was all blurry and hardly see through, stinking far away, and in the middle of it all, sitting restlessly in his chair with a lithe cigarette in is mouth was Sherlock. The most disturbing thing how-ever, was how calm Sherlock was sitting there.

If any-one knew Sherlock, just a little bit, you would know he was never ever calm, unless he was in the middle of an exciting case, concentrating on a problem at hand, he could never be calm when there was nothing going on. Unless..

Mrs. Hudson moved closer and then bowed down, only to discover that Sherlocks pupils were dilated and wide, they didn't even see her as Sherlocks hand lifted for him to take another suction of the cigarette.

Mrs. Hudson How-ever, just managed to take the cigarette away from before Sherlock's hand reached, thought the terrible part was that he didn't snroted annoyed and started complaining by the action, as would be normal for him, instead he merely finished his motion, sucked in even though there was nothing there to suck on, and exhaled, even though there was nothing to exhale.

"Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson stated defeated. "I should have gotten John up here."

Finally there was some kind of reaction, but only minor as Sherlocks brows furrowed. "John?" he hoarsly asked.

"He's a doctor you know." Mrs. Hudson made away. "Sherlock this just isn't healthy, it's actually rather destructive." She told. "We better get some air in here." She informed heading for the window to open it, trying to wave out the smoke.

Sherlock didn't even move, just sat with his unnatural eyes looking out in the room.

"Sherlock where is it?" Mrs. Hudson then asked.

Sherlock didn't answer.

"Your syringes?" Mrs. Hudson then asked a little more decisive but still to now answer. "How long have you've been on morphin?" she then asked a little more sternly.

Lazily Sherlock lifted his arms and then dropped it again as if it was really heavy, pointing at the cupboard.

At ones Mrs. Hudson hurried over there and opened it to be faced with a whole package of syringes, only to many of them used. "Sherlock." She shook her head. "Why?"

In those heavy motions Sherlock lifted a hand and then pointed at his head. "The cases could distract this thing, give it some-thing to focus on." He muttered. "It's always running like an engine.. Out of control. I can't turn the damn thing off..." he told in a tone way duller than his words. "I wish I could turn it off without doing stuff that disappoints you.." he muttered Then his head slowly moved and looked towards Mrs. Hudson without even seeing her. "Without being able to solve cases, what am I supposed to do?" he asked looking up at her, his eyes wet with tears as if he had been in pain. "Mrs. Hudson, it hurts so bad.. Why does it always have to hurt so bad?" he asked. "I tried to stop when coming seeing you, I did.. but it was just hurting so much."

"Hush Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson then demanded. "Some-thing tells me you have been on this ever since you went away, but I am going to take it now."

Sherlock didn't even answer just looked without seeing.

"And then we two will go down stairs, to my apartment where the air is clean, I'll make you some tea, and then some dinner." Mrs. Hudson told sternly. "And then you'll eat, even if I have to force you."

"You're so kind." Sherlock stated in a monotone voice, as if he wasn't even aware he was saying it out loud.. which he probably wasn't. "mummy wasn't even ever that kind, well maybe that ones, but you are always there.. what did I do to earn this kindness."

In response Mrs. Hudson guided his arm over her shoulder, and then almost dragged him out, which wasn't as hard as you may think as Sherlock was skinnier than what could possible be natural. "Well some-times, when people need some-thing, god will be kind upon them." She stated. "I for one am not prepared to loose you again, and if you just told John, I am sure that neither would he."

"No.. not John." Sherlock stated. "Not yet."

"Sherlock, why-ever not?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "You told me."

"Because I am not ready." Sherlock then admitted. "I need to.. to think.. he moved on Mrs. Hudson.. that wife is lovely… lovely." He stated in a deep dreaming tone. "And he deserves better, sure he does, I can mess his things up all over again."

"Sherlock, it's the drug is speaking again." Mrs. Hudson commented, using her foot to kick open the door.

"I've disappointed him.." Sherlock muttered. "I've disappointed you.. "

"No no Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson assured trying to get him in, still having to drag the man, whom despite being very skinny now started to feel heavy.

"Do you have a cigarette?" Sherlock then suddenly asked out of now-where.

"_No!_" Mrs. Hudson snapped annoyed letting Sherlock down on a chair. "And don't you dare go any-where." She then told him.

Sherlock didn't answer.. he was just looking out in the air without seeing, possible without thinking. Which probably was also the goal of his drug abuse, which only made Mrs. Hudson all the more sad as she turned on the oven and put on the kettle.

* * *

><p><em>AN; wauw.. drug abuse.. where did that come from?<em>

_Well, mostly just trying it the way I think is the truest to the characters honestly.. obviously team Moffat and Gratiss (And I first now realised Gratiss is the one who also plays Mycroft.. that's just cool.) will come up with some-thing different. If there's some-thing you can recognise a moffat Script with, it is.. a lot of immediate action never wasting time, not dwelling into scenes like this. So that is my reason I don't believe any-thing like this will happen in the next episode. _

_How-ever, it could happen for these characters. It is stated Sherlock was a former drug abuser, which is even logical if you think about, and if he used a drug I would guess morphine would be the one suiting his needs. _

_For those who doesn't know about drugs, well, different drugs have different outcomes, you don't go all crazy and wacky, starting seeing funny things, with all of them. Morphine can act like an anaesthetic, in everything. Which is also why hospital actually use it in smaller doses to ease pain, but it does slow you down, reduces almost stops the thought process. _

_Sherlocks main reason to use drugs would be to escape his always running mind, he even use cases as a way to focus a mind that just never ever stops. And well... you take his cases away from him, I can only imagine him going back to Morphine. It's sad really, but it's realistic. _

_Imagine if your head never stopped, wouldn't it drive you insane as well? he can't relax, ever :(_

_And well.. Sherlocks notion about his mummy not having been nice to him... arrives from the fact that team Moffat decided to make Sherlock a "Sociopath." not a "Psychopath." you see.. Psycopaths are people simply born with this disorder, maybe had it developed through environment... Sociopaths had their disorder begin and developed through social neglect and maybe even abuse doing childhood.. shocks this Sherlock is a sad sad character :/_

_He is even a very likely candidate for a genuine suicidal person.. good thing this is fiction, it's like Sheldon in the big bang theory, there's no real mental dis-order applying because they keep on cheating. .. Amy Farrah Fowler is a sociopath to btw..  
><em>


	5. Chapter 5

In the morning Mrs. hudson was almost frightful by having to go upstairs and check on Sherlock.

She had of cause taken any Morphine and cigarettes she could find away from him, in Sherlocks dulled down state that was an easier procedure than usual, but the fact still was. That if Sherlock really wanted some-thing, he would get it any-way. Changes even were he had hidden stuff places Mrs. Hudson would never think off to look at.

She had had to almost force food down Sherlocks throat in the evening as he had kept on insisting that he weren't the least bit hungry, even though he was under influence of the drug. he had merely ended in a few bites of bread.

Determined to get some more food into him Mrs. Hudson had prepared a tea tray of bread and butter, decided she wouldn't leave before he had eaten the breakfast he needed. Sherlock needed to gain weight, and really badly. Even though she wasn't a doctor, even Mrs. Hudson could tell that.

Slowly she opened the door into Sherlocks bed room, and almost sighed in relieve as there was seemingly no smoke in there, then she halted.

Sherlock was laying on his back in his bed, fully clothed and on top of the covers, his hands folded on his chest and his face facing the ceiling.. and he wasn't moving, wasn't even making a sound. the first immediate frightful thought Mrs. Hudson got was that he had died doing the night after going to bed. Then she sighed in deep relief as she realised that he was indeed breathing.

Then a second terrible thought stroke Mrs. Hudson, what if he had gone into a coma? or some-thing else? What if he wouldn't wake, what if? "Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.

Only for Sherlocks eyes to open wide, and then for him to sit straight upwards. "I got it!" he simply exclaimed in a excited voice.

"What?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"How to get the last gun man!" Sherlock beamed. "Oh this is grant! magnificent! the game is on!" he told jumping out of bed moving about. "I can both lock him away and explain my own predicament, all in one glorious take." he stated. "Is that coffee you have there?" he then asked taking the tray away from Mrs. Hudson. "Marvellous."

"And bread." Mrs. Hudson reminded. "There's even some marmelade."

"No thanks." Sherlock shrugged. "I'm good, just the coffee." he stated waltzing into the living room where he put down the tray on the couch table and seated himself by the couch.

"_Sherlock._" Mrs. Hudson stated sternly as she placed herself in the door going to the living room with crossed arms, giving Sherlock a lecturing look.

"But eating makes me think slower!" Sherlock defended himself. "Eating is boring."

"Well at least you sound like you again." Mrs. Hudson commented as she refrained from rolling any eyes, good raising had taught her otherwise. "Loosing more weight will make you think slower to." she pointed out. "And make you faint doing the middle of a chase. if John was here he'll tell you the same."

"John." Sherlock muttered as rolled his eyes before exclaiming. "JOHN!" as he stood up. "How long will he be in London?" he at ones asked Mrs. Hudson.

Mrs. Hudson hesitated.

"Well?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"When you have eaten." Mrs. Hudson then stated.

"What?" Sherlock asked disbelieving. "You can't be serious!"

"Some-how, I just arm." Mrs. Hudson then stated.

"Come-one Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock complained. "Just tell me all ready!"

"Eat." Mrs. Hudson stated simply.

Sherlock grumbled as a little child before he at last sourly sat down and even more sourly reached for a piece of bread to take an annoyed bit and then chewed on it. "There!" he stated while still having bread in his mouth. "Happy?" he asked still chewing and then finally swallowed. "Now, how long?" he asked.

"Only two more days." Mrs. Hudson told honestly. "He and the wife are merely on a little vacation, Mary is a theatre fan so they went to see some west-end shows."

"Where do John keep finding those dull women?" Sherlock asked as he rolled his eyes. "What's the point of them?" he asked. "A florist! really?"

"Sherlock, behave." Mrs. Hudson lectured. "He married her, and Mary is a very nice woman."

"Sure she is." Sherlock stated sarcastically. "Well, when he leaves that quick I guess we have to work fast." he stated mysteriously as he sat down, drawing his hands towards his mouth as he often would do when he was simply in very deep thought. "You have to call him, invite him to another outing." he stated.

Mrs. Hudson blinked. "Sherlock, what are you planning?" he asked.

"Didn't you listen?" Sherlock asked annoyed. "We are going to expose that damn assassin! John is going to expose him! get him arrested, then I'll provide the evidence.. simple, so very simple." he stated. "Oddly enough, the simple measures are the most effective, I'm afraid I learned that the hard way." Sherlock stated a little bitterly. "Tricked by such simple measures, if Moriarty wasn't such a genius I would have felt insulted." he stated.

For some moments Mrs. Hudson was silent, not quite knowing what she was supposed to say.

"Well?" Sherlock then stated a little impatient. "Call him all ready!"

"Not before you have eaten!" Mrs. Hudson then stated.

"Oh no not this again." Sherlock complained. "I'll eat after you called, I promise."

"I don't believe you." Mrs. Hudson then stated.

Which made Sherlock groan even louder as he fell backwards in the couch with spread out arms. "I'm not hungry!" he told again.

"What a pity." Mrs. Hudson stated with crossed arms and then very simply just sat down in a wooden chair with crossed arms. "What a pity." she told very simply. "Because I am going to just sit there until I have seen you eat at least two pieces of bread."

"_Two?_" Sherlock asked in a disbelieving voice as he looked up. "Why two? who ever in the whole wide world eats that much for breakfast?" he asked.

Mrs. Hudson didn't answer but just sat in the chair, looking sternly at Sherlock.

Realising that he was quite trapped and couldn't get what he needed without complying, Sherlock at last sat up straight and very sourly picked up the piece of bread he had all ready taken a bite off, occasionally looking up at Mrs. Hudson as he sourly and annoyed ate the two piece of toast bread, both without any thing on them, not even butter.

First as Sherlock had eaten what Mrs. Hudson had demanded did she reach down in her pocket for an older marked mobile phone. "Now what do you want me to tell John?" she then asked.

"All right, listen very closely!" Sherlock stated. "It's important that what-ever else you say to cover up your intentions, these are the precise informations John gets. And under no circumstances, can you even as much as hint that I am here. John is going to capture himself an assassin who has been targeting him for quite a while. And that will all work in my favour, be a good evidence for the reasoning behind my exile." he told and then flashed a grin that could almost considered evil. "Who knows, with the prober questioning, this fiend can even reveal more secrets to the public."

* * *

><p><em>AN; don't you just love when Sherlock acts like a child? <em>


	6. Chapter 6

J

John couldn't help feeling un-easy, the message he had gotten from Mrs. Hudson had ben.. well weird.

Out of no-where the old lady had called him, and then said some very weird nonsense that didn't fit personality at all. And her request, for him to meet up with her be see if he could some-how ditch Mary? Yet if he couldn't it would be all right, as long as he was on time. What the?

It just didn't make any sense!

He had not managed to leave Mary any-where how-ever, John had actually tried. But Mary missing her husband as he fair enough, rarely was with her at home, had insisted that at least they could follow each other. If John needed privacy she could just go out shopping in the area.. Some-times Mary was just way to good for her own good.

It was in coven garden he and Mary meet up with Mrs. Hudson, an short underground trip away from Baker street.

The moment John saw mrs. Hudson he could tell that some-thing was up, the old lady was clearly very nervous as she stepped on the place looking in all directions with shifting nervous eyes, the moment she saw John she almost sank together in relief but then her nervousness and anticipation seemed to come back only twice as strong.

"Mrs. Hudson!" John called out hurrying towards the landlady. "I came as fast as I could." He told unnecessary, as he indeed was ten minutes before time.

"John." Mrs. Hudson gasped a little startled.

"Is every-thing all right?" Mary asked genuinely sounding concerned.

"Hm." Mrs. Hudson mumbled her eyes never leaving John. "Yeas yeas, fine."

"You said it was urgent." John pressed on. "That.." he hesitated. "It sounded like."

"Yeas." Mrs. Hudson at last nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me yesterday?" John asked concerned. "I would have helped at ones."

"The man who's been following me.." Mrs. Hudson hesitated. "He could to easily see us in that café, no no, it's safer here where there's many people. It's more difficult to over hear things dear." She told in a strained voice.

"Mrs. Hudson, if it wasn't because that is smart, I would say you had spend to much time with Sherlock." John frowned.

"Sherlock?" Mary asked wondering. "Isn't he that froth detective who lived in the same building as you, oh!" she suddenly realised what she had said and ashamed covered her mouth. "So sorry Mrs. Hudson, I'm sure he could be a very kind man at home."

Nor it was Mrs. Hudsons turn to sound confused. "Same building.. dearest, they were flat mates him and Sherlock."

At that Mary blinked surprised. "They were?" she asked in astounded voice.

"You didn't know?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"He never told me." Then Marys eyes shifted to John, looking directly at him, trying to capture his eyes though that was proving itself rather difficult as he kept averting hers. "He doesn't tell much from before we met, I was lead to understand he only had a few minor run in with Sherlock Holmes." Finally John just couldn't avert his eyes any longer and was forced to met them as she kept looking at him. "That is what you told wasn't it John?" then she frowned. "John, you don't have to hide any-thing from me, not ever. If there's something, you can tell." She told honestly,

John took in a deep breath, and then exhaled through his teethes. "I think we should focus on Mrs. Hudson right now, don't you?" he asked. "The other things can wait."

Mary opened her mouth, just about to object, but then finally closed again, nodding silently. "Yeas I suppose." She muttered but then looked at him again, with eyes telling him this conversation was not ever.

"Now Mrs. Hudson." John frowned. "Shall we go some-where, or is it here you prefer to tell."

Mrs. Hudson swallowed, then her eyes looked away from John out in the crowds, her eyes were scanning the crowds, resting for a moment a specific place, seeing some-thing that obviously made her relax as she exhaled, and then her eyes landed on some-thing else and widened. "THERE!" she yelled in a very loud voice pointing a t a very specific man who looked shocked by the outburst. "THERE HE IS! I EVEN KNOW HIS NAME, IT'S…" Mrs. Hudson didn't get any further, and it had all gone incredible quick, the moment the man realised he had been found out, he had apparently acted by instinct, not wanting to be exposed to the world, And for all in the world not have his name yelled out loud, so he had quickly drawn a gun, and would have fired at Mrs. Hudson had a hoodie wearing man not bumped right into him that very second so the gun ended firing up in the air and it gave time for John to push the two ladies aside.

The people around screamed and shattered, but as it happened, that gun man was not the only one in the area whom were trained to act on instinct, John didn't need to think, he just needed to react, as the gun man turned around to run John merely followed, and did so in a jump and a spring, the priorities were clear and engraved in his mind, first get rid of the danger, then do the damage report, always.

The man ran into the Covent marked filled with small stalls selling all kinds of things to the tourists, and people either didn't manage to quite capture what was going on, or fled while they screamed. Soon the man jumped over a desk into a clothes shop, only for John to follow showcasing surprising stealth, then the man dogged beneath another desk only for John to jump over. "STOP THAT MAN!" John roared with all of his might.

And then at last, the man stopped up to draw his gun and point it at John, but those few seconds of slowing down was all John needed for a full body assault kicking the man down in the ground, bind him in a full nelson, forcing the arms on the gun mans back and kicked the gun away, then at last, as he knew he had full control of the man did John smile satisfied and looked up at the audience they had gathered. "Could some-one please call the police?" he asked in a almost pleasant voice.

"Urh." A woman with red hair blinked and finally drew ford a mobile phone. "I'll do that." She told.

It took fifteen minutes for the police to arrive, and for all that time John kept down the gunman with a steady hand and a grim face.

Eventually Mary and Mrs. Hudson managed to find him and was left just stand rather helplessly observing his stellar take on the fiend, Mary mostly seemed to be shocked over her sweater loving husbands sudden outburst and now cold calm tone.

It was hardly any surprise that when the police came, John was asked to follow to the station and be a witness, and thus he ended up sitting on a chair in a bare office, with the two ladies on both his sides.

They were only in silence, no one really know how to break it, Mary's eyes flickered several times, obviously she had some-thing burning on her lips, but John didn't give her any openings. So at last Mary just bursted it out. "John, what were you thinking?" she asked.

John frowned slightly and then turned to Mary. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Charging after a gun man like that?" Mary asked. "He had a gun john, you could have been hurt! I was frightened to death."

John frowned. "He tried to shoot us." He pointed out a little annoyed. "Why wouldn't I run after him?"

"Because that is what we have police for." Mary stated. "They would have found him and brought him to justice."

"No they wouldn't." John then stated. "You have no idea Mary, how many men like him walks three, it was sheer luck he ended up exposing himself like this, otherwise he would never have been discovered, he is a professional."

"But John." Mary injected.

"No Mary he was, the way he pulled that gun tells enough, he is used to us it, used to pressure actions." John stated darkly.

"How do you even know that kind of stuff." Mary asked a little hopelessly. "John, you are not a police officer you're a.." she exhaled and then swallowed. "A clinic doctor."

That made John breath in a staggering breath, not knowing what to say.

"I really was scared when you just ran after him like that." Mary informed, as her eyes grew wet. "And then when you held him down.. as was it every-day routine, you looked so at home in that situation, I never seen you like that before."

That made Mrs. Hudson blinked before she gave John a rather reproachful look.

John opened his mouth, desperately searching for some-thing to say, some-way to explain himself, anything. He hated it when he needed to explain himself, and yet he couldn't blame Mary for any-thing. She was just genuinely worried. And it was not like he had ever kept any thing from her, he just never talked about… things. And as the door opened to interrupt the awkward moment it wasn't even on purpose that John let out an "oh thank god." Then he looked up to see the officer greeting them, and another bag of mixed feelings hit him.

"John!" that particular inspector greeted him on familiar terms with wide open arms, it was Lestrade.

"Greg." John awkwardly lifted a hand. "What are you doing here? It wasn't you assigned to this was it?"

"Well, I heard your name popping up and hurried down here." Lestrade told honestly. "I guess I ended up missing you after all, three years without absurd trouble revolving around you, it just got weird. John how are you?" he asked.

"Well, Mrs. Hudson almost got shot, I hunted down an armed gunman in public, and now I have to eat that rubbish food you got in here." John listed up. "Yeah, pretty good." he then told making Lestrade laugh.

"And Mrs. Hudson." Lestrade addressed Mrs. Hudson. "You look yourself, it's unbelievable that it has been three years hasn't it. And the lovely lady." His eyes fell on Mary.

"Oh," John realised. "This is Mary, my wife." He told.

"Wife." Greg blinked. "Well that was quick." Which made John groan. "She must be very special then." He told smiling warmly at Mary.

"I'm sorry sir, I don't know whom you are." Mary responded a little shyly.

"Oh urhm." John flushed badly. "Mary, this is inspector Greg Lestrade, he urh."

"Constantly got John and Sherlock out of trouble when they were in to deep." Greg informed.

"I don't think that is how Sherlock saw it." Mrs. Hudson furrowed. "Isn't it the other way around dearest."

"I think it can be argued it went both ways." John muttered beneath his breath.

Mary how-ever was left being utterly confused, not able to piece this strange conversation together. "John you told me you barely knew Sherlock Holmes." She whispered beneath her breath.

"Urh.." John swallowed. "Well technically, no one really knew Sherlock. He could be the definition of.. distracted."

"Impossible to know what went on in that mans head." Lestrade admitted. "Though I suppose John was the one to get the closest."

And that made Marys eyes open wide, as she looked at her husband a new. "John." She blinked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" John asked looking up at the ceiling not at Mary.

"That you shared a flat with Sherlock holmes, that you.. were out getting in troubles with him. Were you close?" Mary asked.

"He's dead, does it really matter?" John asked annoyed.

"Of cause it does!" Mary exclaimed. "Obviously it's important to you, or you wouldn't become all squirmy every time we get near the subject."

"Erh." Nervously Lestrade scratched his neck. "Well, this is becoming awkward." He stated. "And I was actually just coming to ask if you wanted to have a look on the gun man before you are signing papers, they are almost done. And well, maybe you can recognise him."

Relieved for the sudden diversity John looked up. "Yeas please" he told at ones.

As they walked towards the holding cell Mary was clinging to Johns arm, as if she was suddenly afraid of seeing him go, a behaviour unusual for her, she was usually very patient, open and understanding. But now she used both her hands to simply hold on to him, and that quite frankly started to annoyed John, especially was he was to nice to ask her to stop.

And thus she still held on as John gazed in through the one way mirror, which was a window from his position, only to frown.

"Recognise any-thing?" Lestrade asked casually as he merely stood relaxed with his hands in his pockets.

"Actually I do." John confessed. "I couldn't be sure before, because his head was away from me, and then there was all the running."

"So you know him?" Lestrade asked.

"Well, I know who he is." John told honestly. "He is one of the three assassins that were targeting Sherlock three years ago."

That made Lestrade open his mouth, before he closed it again and frowned. "When did that happen?" he asked.

"The days up to the… urh." John halted before taking a deep breath and continued. "The entire last week of Sherlocks life." He then said with a stern focused voice matching his now clear focused eyes, not flickering but resting sternly on Lestrade. "Three people were positioned targeting him, as a constant threat, moving into surrounding apartments, constantly watching him. Eventually we found out they were actually there to protect Sherlock, even though they were all trained assassins. We never found out the main reason for Moriarty to station them there." John told honestly. "And well, with Sherlock having been dead for three years, it's just baffling why he would keep on hanging around!" he told pointing at the man.

"Well, that certainly is interesting." Lestrade nodded.

"I.." Mrs. Hudson hesitated.

"Yeas." Lestrade asked politely.

"I recognise him to." Mrs. Hudson then admitted. "I first met him, shortly before Sherlocks.. demise. He helped me with a shelf, I made him tea. It was like, he was always around, a very nice man." She told. "Then recently, I started to notice his strange behaviour, always watching me he did, hiding in the opposite building, I thought I saw a gun ones. And that's when I called you back John." She looked at him.

"You." John breathed. "He was targeting you, not Sherlock.. but why?" he asked. "Why would any-one ever want to kill you Mrs. Hudson?" he asked baffled.

To which Mrs. Hudson helplessly shrugged, all though it seemed like she had to bit her lips to keep from talking further.

"Or maybe they were targeting Sherlock." Lestrade commented in a thoughtful frown.

"By pointing a gun at Mrs. Hudson?" John asked disbelieving.

"You know the old soldiers tale don't you?" Lestrade asked in a matter of fact tone. "A soldier going to war are all ready prepared to die, when the enemy tries to threaten him with death, there's no way the soldier will budge, he is after all a soldier. But then the enemy can turn the soldier into a man, by attacking his weak spot, such thing as family, and ones turning the soldier into a Friend, boyfriend, husband.. dad.. he can be broken." Lestrade told. "It's always easy putting your own life on the line, it's sacrificing others people can't life with.

"Sherlock would never care if he lived or died, how worn out he would become with that weird day rhythm of his, for him merely existing were taxing." John pondered. "But us.." and then at ones, every-thing started to flash before Johns eyes, emotions, conversations, observations.

_"The world does not have heroes, and if they did, I certainly wouldn't be one of them." _

_"I told the truth, I don't have any friends, except one." _

_"Sherlock you didn't have to beat him up that badly, what he did to Mrs. Hudson was horrible, but.." "No John, I did have to." _

_"Sentiment, what an odd thing, what is it good for?" "Well, it's what you can't control Sherlock. No one plans it, it just happens."_

And then as John opened his eyes again, he was no longer at the police station, no, he was right back at the same spot, outside of the building, it had been cold and windy, John was filled with fear about his friend, his mobile pressed towards his ear as he desperately looked around for any sign of what was happening.

_"Ok, look up. I'm on the rooftop"_

_"Oh god." Shit, on the ledge? What the hell are you doing Sherlock?_

_"I..I can't come down, so we'll just have to do it like this"_

_"W..What's going on?"yeas.. what_ _is going on? _

_"..An apology. It's all true"_

_"What?" …. What?_

_"Everything they said about me...I invented Moriarty"_

_What? "Why are you saying this?" _

_"I'm a fake."_

_At that moment, John did no longer see the scene as he had done back then, but as a third party, standing beside his past self. "Sherlock never told me a lie, but why would he do it now? I couldn't make it fit." John observed as he frowned of himself.  
><em>

_"Sherlock.." he past self spoke, without understanding, and the three year older Watson looked up, the same way as his old self, watching Sherlock, only then to no longer be on ground level, but now standing up there together with Sherlock who was looking down. On the roof top laid the fresh corpse of Jim Moriarty having committed suicide, forcing Sherlock into a corner, which forced Sherlock to speak in a scared voice as he did now. _

_"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs Hudson and Molly..in fact tell anyone who will listen to you, that I created Moriarty, for my own purposes."_

_"You never cared if people respected you or not." John commented walking behind Sherlock. "For you the world was build of facts, being modest and humble never made any sense to you. So why let those be your finale words, why even make it a confession. Why would you even care or want us to know?" _

_"Nobody could be that clever" Sherlock spoke to the past John through the mobile phone. _

_"Because it's not a confession." John answered his own question standing up on the ledge beside Sherlock, looking down at his past self. "It's a rescue attempt." _

_"I researched you. When we met, I discovered everything I could to impress you. It's a trick. Just a magic trick"_

_"And here you are desperate." John told. "You know I can't be convinced that easily, I have been with you to long, seen to much, and I am not stupid. But you are desperate to find another excuse, desperation will make any-one stupid, even you, and you are so very desperate to find another explanation, any-thing, sorry I didn't consider that." John bothered. "But well, it's hard imagining you ever being desperate." _

_"Keep you eyes fixed on me. Please will you do this for me?" Sherlock asked his last plea, with tears falling down his eyes. He was afraid, there was no escape now. So trapped, desperate, and afraid. _

_"It's fine" John spoke to him as he looked at Sherlocks face, who didn't see him, but only his younger self than there."I didn't understand then, but now I do. You wont have to be alone."  
><em>

_"This phone call...um...it's my note. Thats what people do, don't they? Leave a note" Sherlock asked in a tired exhausted voice, he so badly just wanted to get it over with now._

_"I would ask you not to do it, but I know you all ready did." John sighed deeply and exhausted. "Please don't say it thought.." he muttered.  
><em>

_"Goodbye John"_

_"No...don't"John heard his own voice through the blackberry. _

_But Sherlock just threw the phone to the side, his last lifeline to the living discarded on the rooftop, and then he did it.. he took the long jump. And John couldn't control his own instincts, grief and panic just stroke him"NO SHERLOCK!" John reached a desperate arm through to the memory, and he would have grabbed the coat, was it not because that this was merely a memory, and thus his hand slipped through as if there was nothing but air in front of him, only his own voice sounding from far below, yelling so high that it could be heard about the London noise. _

_"SHERLOCK!"_

Then John was suddenly back, back in front of the holding cell, as if nothing had changed at all, not even a second had gone by, but it all fell into place. "Three assassins." He told in a thoughtful voice. "Three targets, you Mrs. Hudson, probably me.. and.." he hesitated.

Lestrade shrugged. "His brother?" he asked.

"no no." John shook his head. "Sherlock couldn't stand his brother, any outsider would assume he would gladly kill the man personally if the occasion arouse, he just don't care for Mycroft. No, it has to be some-one Sherlock respected. Worked with.. from an outsiders perspective relied on."

"Not many of those, it should be rather simple shouldn't it?" Lestrade asked.

"Yeas, yeas it should." John furrowed thoughtfully, only to finally become aware about how much Mary was clinging to him. "Erh, Mary." He frowned. "Do you mind?" he asked.

Flushing extremely badly Mary at last slowly let go, and took a step back, to just stand awkwardly and with a red face, uncomfortably twisting her fingers.

"Who were he able to work with.. be in the same room as for more than five…" Then Johns eyes raised, and then looked at Lestrade. "You." He finally said.

"What, me?" Lestrade asked surprised. "Why me, I was never with him privately, beside I don't even think he liked me!"

"Sherlock never had any such things as a private life." John answered. "It was only ever the cases, you were a part of the cases, a part whom accepted him for what he was, thus a part in his life. Three assassins, going after the only three consistent people in his life, the only three people whom would care for him as a person instead of just the big detective, Mrs. Hudson, you and me." John stated. "We are all here." Then John was back at the scene, back with Sherlock standing on the roof top, only it was all frozen into a still. "It was all Moriartys carefully crafted plan, he wanted to see Sherlock fall. He found the only way to do it." John told circling around Sherlock. "Sherlock needed us to think he was a froth, he needed the world to think it, or we would be shot."

"What about Moriartys suicide?" Lestrade asked.

"Before Moriarty took his own life, Sherlock still had two options." John informed circling around Moriartys dead body. "Moriarty would have a way to call the gun men back, he always liked to be able to change his mind mid way through did it suit him." John commented bitterly thinking back at the poole accident. "Sherlock knew this and pointed it out, he even found a way to make Moriarty spill it, but the moment Moriarty found out Sherlock had a way to make him talk, he made sure to become forever silent before Sherlock ever got that far." He told as he was back together with the others. "It finally fits." He told.

Lestrade blinked, and then smiled lightly. "John." He said.

"What?" John asked.

"You've spend far to much time with Sherlock!" Lestrade informed. "you have become far to good at this deduction thing."

"It was nothing really." John told. "I have been thinking that scene over and over for three years after all. Sherlock would have made the deduction within seconds, this took me years."

That was the moment Mary stepped out and closed the door after her.

"Where's she going on?" John asked surprised.

"I think just out to catch a breath of fresh air dear." Mrs. Hudson told. "Don't worry about it."

John how-ever frowned, feeling that was not quite it.. he had let her down again.


	7. Chapter 7

It was precisely a month after that little incident, John was back at London, in front of city hall in fact, wearing a clean shirt, jacket and a tie. He was supposed to go in and be a witness.

The month leading up to it had been.. weird.

Things between him and Mary had been weird, Mary had suddenly out of no-where turned clingy, wanting to spend as much time with John as possible, setting up different arrangements. She had asked ones if they could invite Lestrade to their private home for tea and dinner, and twice she asked the same with Mrs. Hudson.

She dragged him out in the park when John came home from work, sat up good dinners. And all that attention actually just got on Johns nerves, it was only his own polite personality that ensured he didn't snap of her when he just wished to be left alone.

And yet, despite those odd things going on at the home front, John felt better than he had in a long time.

Truth be told, John didn't even know he had felt bad, but looking back he could definitely tell there was some-thing. Now he got easier annoyed, easier frustrated, came with a lot more snarky comments. He finally had the energy.

Before hand he actually hadn't, and that was frightening. Only in retrospect and as doctor could John see he might had had a minor form of depression, robbing him from energy, solving the puzzle of Sherlocks last ten minutes, had finally giving him his life force back, it had given his mind peace.

And now when he had that energy back, as he had finally gotten just a little peace of mind, he had to ask himself.. what the hell had he been doing? How had he even allowed himself to catch a depression in the first place? How dared he not to see neither Mrs. Hudson nor Greg for three years? And Mary! How had he been treating her all this time? How was she treating her now? What had he been thinking when he so quickly had asked her to marry him, not because he was desperately in love, but because he wanted to avoid the questions they were moving towards. What kind of idiot was he?

It was no surprise at all that Mary had tagged along with him to London, she went every-where he went now. And thus she stood beside him in a lovely white dress, her golden hair all neatly arranged, her pretty face shined up with make-up, but not to much. She didn't like showing off… Sherlock would have found her beyond dull. And John squinted his eyes together scolding himself ones again.

Well, at least the witness process went fairly well, John was only asked to be quiet by the judge twice. And John managed to keep back his observations and comments about Sherlocks demise. The proof he had that it wasn't exactly suicide, but murder under pressure.

Unfortunately no one was interested in that, least of all the chief of Scotland yard who had met up for the occasion, fat and with glasses, just like three years ago where John could only remember with pride what a nosebleed he had managed to give the man.

"Well, at least you managed not to punch him this time." Lestrade commented as he met up with John on their way out.

Mary blinked. "Excuse me." She asked.

"Well they met ones before him and John." Lestrade explained. "The Chief inspector I mean, John punched him, right in the nose. Gave him a good nose-bleed to."

"Greg, please." John tried as he groaned.

"Well, you must have been under a press back then, then." Mary forced ford a smile. "Sounds.. interesting." She said in a voice that just sounded in secure.

"It was a one time thing, I swear." John stated.

"Hm." Lestrade shook his head. "Didn't look like it in there, looked like you had half a mind to just go and repeat the success."

John groaned deeply and Mary smiled yet another forced smile.. very forced smile. "Well, it'll soon be over right?" she asked. "We can go home now, the man is behind bars."

"Actually I'll pop over to the police station with Greg, just for a short while." John informed Mary.

Mary blinked surprised. "What are going to do there?"

"I think I might found some few proofs that Sherlock wasn't a froth." Lestrade told. "Basically what we need to do to clear him is proving that Jim Moriarty was a real person, and John just want to have a look."

"But isn't that police work?" Mary asked.

"And that's why Greg will keep an eye on me." John stated.

"Just like the old days." Lestrade commented slightly amused.

Confused Mary looked for both of them, looking like she could just burst with both questions and objections, for a moment John looked concerned at her, that was the moment he didn't see where he was going, and bumped right into a young man sending them both down on the pavement. At ones John sat up and looked at the person he had bump into.

It had to be a young man, he was wearing a hoodie with the hood dragged up over his hair, he wore large pants, those kind young rebels liked, and a pair of sunglasses. The young man had been caring what looked like a whole mountain of books which now laid spread out on the busy street.

"oh, I am so, so sorry." John stated at ones and immediately started to collect all the books spread out. "I erh.. I didn't see you."

"It's all right mate, all right." The young man spoke in what sounded like quite the heavy street liver-pool accent. "Ah, me books!" the young man exclaimed and started to collect as well, finally it seemed like they got them all, with a little help from Mary and the young man stood up, he looked to be ordinary height, but it was hard to tell as he just kept on slousing in a posture probably supposed to be cool, like the pants and sunglasses, chances were if he would just stand up straight that he would be taller. "Thanks mate." He told taking the books away from John, collecting them all in a pile. "Just pile the rest of e'm on top all right?" he asked.

"You're sure?" Mary asked as she stood with two books. "You don't have to go far with all of those do you?"

"No mam, not far at all." The young man assured. "It's groovy." He told turning around and stumbling away with all of the books, walking in a rather uneligant awkward way.

"Groovy?" Lestrade asked with a raised eye-brow.

"I haven't heard that word since I was young." John remarked in a defeated shake of his head.

"What an awkward young man." Mary remarked in a sigh. "So, when do you think you and Greg will be.. done with, what-ever you need to do?" she asked.

"Oh, shouldn't be long." John promised. "Just a quick look, I'll be with you for dinner." He promised.

Mary sighed relieved and then tiptoed to kiss John on the cheek. "Okay then." She said. "I'll leave you with your friend, love you."

"Love you to." John smiled appreciating, before very easily wander off with Lestrade leaving Mary behind.

* * *

><p>"She sure is patient." Greg commented as the two were back at the police station looking over some files.<p>

"huh?" John asked without looking up.

"Your lovely wife." Lestrade commented. "Boy if my own wife were half as patient with me, what bliss that would be."

"Oh yeah, yeah. She's great." John commented lifting a picture to look probably at it.

"All though I supposed confrontation is what spies things up." Lestrade commented.

"Greg, why are we even talking about family life?" John asked a little impatience sneaking up in his voice.

"Just trying to catch up." Lestrade responded honestly. "And now you have gotten married to, that seems to be the most interesting thing happening for you these past three years."

John sighed deeply as he shook his head. "I guess." He muttered. "Excuse me, I'll just pop out to get a bit of fresh air."

"Want a cigarette to go?" Lestrade asked.

"Still don't smoke." John replied wandering outside, and from there, to walk all the way outside where obviously more time had passed than John had anticipated.. it was dark! John groaned, he had missed dinner with Mary! Annoyed john grabbed his mobile fun and discovered he had five unread sms's and two un-answered calls, all from Mary, probably worried about his absence. Quickly John shifted display picture and started writing his message, telling Mary that he was okay, then he discovered a typo and annoyed tried to fix it, only to loose grip of the telephone and drop it completely to let out a very annoyed growl before bending down to pick up his phone, only for a voice to sound right about him.

"Trouble with the lady mate?" The voice asked.

John blinked and looked up. "_You?" _he asked in a disbelieving voice as he stood up and blinked at the man who stood right to his left.

It was that young hoodie wearing man from before, standing all slouched smoking a cigarette, right now he inhaled and the exhaled relaxed. "Evening mate." He greeted.

"What are you doing here?" John asked as he blinked.

"Well actually, came to see ya mate." The young man responded. "I just realised that I never quite thanked ya for helping me with me books and that, so I found out, better make sure to do it."

"You really don't have to.."John sighed tired, but then halted. "How did you even know I was here?" he asked in a suspicious tone.

"Well, that is the question aint it?" the young man asked. "Actually, I am a neighbour of ya's, or well, _was_ I suppose. At Baker street man, recognised ya right of. Doctor John Watson. Those weird things you and that Sherlock what's his name did." he smiled to himself. "It was groovy."

"Well, now you've seen me, perhaps you should go home." John told the young man off.

"But that seems so pointless." The young man complained. "I came all the way here just for you Doc, and then go all the way back." He wined as he threw down his cigarette and then stepped on the smoking tip with his shoe.

"Please don't call me doc." John stated annoyed. "And go home. Right now." He stated turning around to grab the door handle so he could go back in.

The young man how-ever was fast, and grabbed the door before John could close it, stepping in as well. "Or I might just hang around for a little bit." The young man grinned.

"Honestly?" John asked. "This is a police station, filled with police. The place where they lock you up for breaking an entrance."

"This is an investigations lab." The young man corrected. "And it's after hours, no police."

"Just go!" John demanded. "You are just asking for trouble."

"Or maybe I am just what you need, maybe a little facts about criminology could help, I got all the books." The young man pushed.

"Oh god, tell me you are not one of those kids wanting adventure. Just go home!" John stated. "Or I might be forced to force you."

"Yeah, quite capable of that, aren't ya mate." The young man asked. "that gun dude sure got his first hand experience." He stated. "I impressed dude, really impressed, you can run when you feel like it!" the young man grinned just walking as if he owned the place, John hopelessly trying to cut him off without any luck, the young man just kept on blabbering. And then suddenly John realised, as they had been busy speaking they had moved, the young man had continued moving down the dark hall way, and John trying to get him out of the building had followed, so now they were all the way down at the conference room where chairs and table stood available. "But still maybe, I have some-thing your inspector friend and his lab down there don't." he stated.

Confused John turned around, gazing down the hall way in the direction of where Lestrade would be. "All right! How do you know these things, where I would be. And that Greg is an inspector! You will have to tell it now." He said sternly and first then looked back very sourly at the young man, only to completely freeze.

The young man had removed the sunglasses and let down the hood, he wasn't any-longer slouching but proved himself to be quite tall, and not young at all.. very much not a wasted young man at all.. pale and familiar, with high cheek bones, pale looking eyes, dark curly hair and of all things he was smiling, reaching out his arms in glad greeting ready to embrace what was in front of him. "John!"

John how-ever, did some-thing he had never done ever before, and never would do ever again. He fainted right then and there.

_"Mrs. Hudson, when you point at the gun men, remember to say that you know his name, it's essential that he will assume that you know his name." Sherlock stated as he sat with crossed legs on top of the coffee table, explaining his plan as he drank the morning coffee. "If you only know his look, he wont be worried, but his real name, and oh there's course for all sources of alarm." _

_"Yeas Sherlock, but wont it be dangerous, in a public street? And a gun?" Mrs. Hudson asked._

_"I'll make sure that he only shoots up in the air." Sherlock stated. "A mere bump into him at the right moment, John will of cause run straight after him, and capture him. Oh it's so very simple." _

_"Then what?" Mrs. Hudson asked. _

_"I gave John a piece, a very important piece that can explain my… demise." Sherlock told secretly. "But please don't even hint at what you know, John must think he figured it out himself_

_"But then what?" Hudson asked. _

_"You know John, he wont be able to rest before he tried to fit some more pieces. Some-thing him and I had in common, which is grant." Sherlock smiled. "He'll know for sure now, even have proof that Richard Brook is a fake and Moriarty is real, It would be so typically for him to want to clear my name, to make sure people still think highly of me even though I am dead." _

_"You really think he would be able to clear your name?" Mrs Hudson asked. "All by himself?"_

_At that Sherlock snorted. "Heck no." he stated. "He wont stand a chance, he'll need help. Only one person will be able to do this." He stated jumping of the table wandering towards the window with his hands on his back._

_"whom?" Mrs. Hudson asked. _

_"Me." Sherlock smiled to himself. "Obviously." _

_"But Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson blinked. "I thought you said you weren't ready yet."_

_"Oh but this is different!" Sherlock stated. "To walk up to John, without any reason, any case. No way." He stated lifting a hand. "But with a purpose, a specific purpose, I can do that." He stated proudly. "He needs my help, I need his. It's perfect." He grinned clasping his hands together. _

Joan groaned as he slowly regained conscious.. All this talk about Sherlock had to be getting to him, he had just seen Sherlocks ghost apparently, slowly John opened his eyes, only to almost scream in surprise as a certain familiar face was looming only far to close to him.

"Sorry." That man which both looked and sounded like Sherlock spoke. "I didn't know you would be _that_ distressed." He told standing up.

"It happened." John stated clasping a hand toward his face. "I finally lost it." He stated.

"I wouldn't say that." Sherlock commented. "All though why you would marry that florist I just don't know, she's as dull as the teacher!"

"_Sherlock!" _John scolded in a very familiar stern tone and then clasped his hands towards his mouth, as to try and stop himself. "No." he stated. "No no no no, you can't be here!"

"Why?" Sherlock asked as if it was a perfectly valid question.

"_Because." _John hissed. "You're dead Sherlock! For _three _years!"

Sherlock shrugged. "Being dead was dull, so I decided to come back"

"Why is it I am even very close to buy that?" John asked holding a hand over his eyes. "No, sorry Sherlock, you just can't.. can't.. I'm just dreaming. Yeas dreaming! That makes perfect sense!"

Sherlock simply clicked his lips watching Johns distress, then Sherlock did a series of very purposeful actions, he very simply walked to the fridge standing in the corner, opened it, pulled out a bottle of water, closed the fridge, opened the bottle of water, wandered over the John to stand right in front of the fretting doctor, and then out of no-where just threw the water on John.

John spluttered in surprise and angrily looked up at Sherlock. "_What!_" he stated in a angry tone. "Was that about?"

"Saving time." Sherlock told simply. "In dreams there's certain things you can't experience, such as pain or falling down. The body reacts to such a shock as is it a threat and wake you up, being wet is one of those things, I even shocked you with the motion. Thus you can't possible be sleeping, thus you can't be dreaming nor having a hallucination, I am still here, thus I must be for real." Sherlock listed very simply before drinking the rest of the water. "Really sorry about all this mess though, I didn't know you would be this distressed."

"Coming back after being dead for three years and you are surprised that _I_ am surprised?" John asked. "You are not Human Sherlock, you are just _not _human!" John stated standing up from the chair starting to walk around in manic circles that honestly fitted Sherlocks persona more, but obviously the doctor was very distressed at given moment, not quite able to cope with any-thing. "It's so typical you! Oh I kill you Sherlock, I really really could." He stated plummeting down on the chair. "This is a nightmare." John stated covering his face with his hands. "It has to be. Wake up, wake up."

"Why do you keep insisting that it's a dream?" Sherlock asked. "It may be improbable that I am here, but with such proof it is impossible for me not to be here, plus I just proved that it's impossible that it's a dream, thus the improbable must be the truth."

"See, that's the thing about us normal human beings, we are not quite as logical as you Sherlock." John snorted and then silenced, looking at Sherlock, for the first time. Just looking. "How can you be alive?" he asked stunned, for the first time asking the question, as if a little part of him was genuinely considering, though the rest of him was disbelieving. "I saw you."

"You had to see me." Sherlock told. "You're not that stupid."

"Oh so I am just a little stupid?" John snorted. "That is so typically you Sherlock! Absolutely, completely and whoely typical!" he told. "Three years, three years Sherlock." John grumbled taking himself to the head. "Time enough to make it reality that you are not in this world any longer." He stated rubbing his temples, then a smile cracked through his face and he started chuckling.

"What?" Confused and a kind of concerned Sherlock looked at John.

Which just made John burst out in loud laughter pointing and gesturing at Sherlock.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked confused.

"I'm just going through emotions!" John laughed. "This is ridicules!" he stated. "The most ridicules thing you have ever done! It beats Buckingham Palace it's that ridiculous!"

"Well I wouldn't say that." Sherlock pondered.

"Oh it is! You just waltzing in saying, hey Remember me! You watched me die, I'm not dead any-longer! Only you Sherlock! Only you! Can be so careless about it!" John laughed loudly. "And I just remembered how absolutely you that would be! And is surprised that I am surprised to see you to? You're such an Idiot!" he chuckled.

Finally Sherlock caught it and his lips twitching upwards, for a soft laughter to escape his lips. "Well I suppose I am." He chuckled and then he laughed to, laughed with John. "ARH JOHN!" he happily spread out his arms. "It's so good to see you! Marvellous in fact!" he grinned. "Stupendid! There was times I never thought I was going to see you again!" he grinned wipping away a tear from his eye.

"Hey! If you are going to rise from the dead, at least act like your own asshole self." John pointed out all though he was still beaming and laughing to.

Sherlock merely laughed at the comment and then shook his head. "I thought you just stated that this indeed is so typically me being." He hesitated. "Was it an ass?" he asked pleasantly. "Then of cause there was such things as computer, idiot and.. I have no idea what a Spock is."

"No you wouldn't would you?" John asked shaking his head. "God Sherlock, I sure hope you have a good explanation for all of this, I am happy to see you, but I am genuinely afraid of ending up killing you."

"Well that would be an awful shame wouldn't it?" Sherlock asked slightly amused. "Now that I put so much afford into tricking death only to be killed by my only friend, I don't think there's enough irony in the world for that to happen."

"How-ever Sherlock." Johns smiled turned into a frown, his eyes from light into stern and his entiry body now completely serious as he almost seized Sherlock. "Explain yourself." He asked sternly a slight tinge in his voice and his knuckles tightened, none missed by Sherlock.

"You're angry." Sherlock noted.

"Sherlock, I am furious." John stated shortly. "I don't believe I have ever been this furious at any time in all of my life, and I shared a flat with _you_ for over a year." He stated with crossed arms.

"John, would you ever really believe I didn't have very good reasons for every-thing I have done?" Sherlock asked walking back in the room and then sat down in a chair opposing John.

"No, and that would be the reason I haven't killed you yet." John stated. "Please just explain."

"You all ready know." Sherlock pointed out. "You found out at the station."

"I want you to tell me." John stated looking as stern as ever, even commanding.

"Where to begin?" Sherlock asked lifting his hands to his mouth as so often before, when he thought.

"How about.." John hesitated as Sherlock looked at him. "The jump." He then said. "When you stood up there with your phone, talking to me.. and jumped. What was that about?" he asked.

Sherlock lifted an eye-brow. "That's a messy way to start, in the middle of it all, not at the beginning not at the end."

"Sherlock." John stated a little sternly.

"But I suppose the most interesting place." Sherlock then admitted. "Out of a long string of interesting events, I should almost thank Jim Moriarty.. if it was not."

"You are staling." John stated. "You stood on top of the building, preparing to jump, you saw me down on the street and called me up, tried to convince me you was a froth."

"Yeas a rather stupid move, you would never have bought that in a million years." Sherlock then admitted.

"You were obviously scared, what happened?" John asked.

Sherlock. "I was scared." He admitted. "I didn't know if I was going to survive, and in either case, Sherlock Holmes as you knew him was about to die. Unlike Moriarty, I did not have a wish to die."

"But it was either you or me right?" John asked in a frown.

Sherlock nodded darkly. "Well, me or You, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade." He stated as the shadow over his eyes seemingly grew.

"I knew it." John muttered.

Sherlock merely nodded looking right in front of himself. "And don't doubt for a minute that if I had to chose John, it wouldn't me." He stated. "Chosing was what Moriarty forced me to do.. so very simple, he played me by just doing very simple things. Funny isn't it? True beauty, true art, often lies in simplicity." He reflected however cleared his throat by Johns frown. "He made me an ultimatum, either I was going to jump or his henchmen would take out all three of you." Sherlock told. "My last possibility was to force Moriarty to call them back, and I would do it, but Moriarty refused to loose hench." Sherlock gestured with his head.

"If he killed himself you couldn't make him call his troops back." John nodded.

"My mind had thought it over a thousand times even before I stood up there.. played the scenario over and over, I knew he wanted me to jump, it would be the finale act to destroy not only me, but every-thing that I am, to all people on the earth. I went over the scenarium in my head over and over, considered any possible outcomes, thousand things I could have said and done differently, and still I was trapped. Every-thing I could have done had all ready crossed Moriarty's mind. And by being so very simple in his ways, he had me trapped." Sherlock told. "If any-one knew, any one at all, that I was alive. The only three people in my life who managed to crawl under my skin would die, three good people, and just one good person is a rare thing in this world, three heroes. And well, me against three heroes?" Sherlock shook his head. "No hard choice."

"Some would argue your intelligent is worth a hundred heroes." John commented.

"Then it's a good thing it wasn't their choice then." Sherlock snorted. "All though, they would be quite correct it is at least worth a hundred dull people." He rolled his eyes. "It's my gift and my curse." He stated matter of factly.

John merely shook his head.

"I didn't want to do it." Sherlock told sincerely. "I didn't want to say to you all that I did, I would never want that to be my last words to you, for the first time in all of my life, without being induced by drugs, I think I felt what fear, no terror, and perhaps even grief is like, and yet I couldn't stop up to analyze it, It just happened. But I had to, I had to." Sherlock sighed deeply. "There's been many times I was that close to just texting you." He admitted. "I had picked up my current phone, written the message, thousand different versions, none of them quite right, some-times I were actually very close at sending any-way. Quit illogical isn't it? But then I remembered why I had to stay hidden, any little slip and it could mean the end."

"By god." Amused John shook his head. "Did it really happen?" he asked a little sadly.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"illogical?" John asked amused. "Sherlock, to want to make contact, while being out there alone.. that is a completely human thing to do." He stated. "And well, choosing to erh.. jump, destroy yourself. How did you manage to turn human all of a sudden?"

"Turn normal?" Sherlock pondered. "I am not quite sure if it's a gift or a curse."

"Oh trust me, you could never turn normal." John stated. "Normal people don't walk back from the dead." Then he frowned. "You look horrible." He commented on Sherlocks obvious ghastly look, his sunken in cheeks and all what came with them.

"Well thanks, same to you." Sherlock snorted.

"John." Lestrade voice suddenly sounded from outside. "Where did you go?"

Sherlock groaned. "Well, seems like this chat is over."

"But." John blinked.

"Meet me at our old flat, as fast as you can." Sherlock whispered.

"But there's some new renter there."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "no there isn't." he stated.

"You mean.. _you were there?" _John asked his tone rising.

"John, if you feel the need to hit me, do it fast before Lestrade gets here." Sherlock instructed.

"I'm saving it for later." John mumbled sourly walking towards the door before he hesitated with his hand on his handle, then he looked back at Sherlock. "I'm glad you're not dead." He then finally stated in a silent voice, before walking out to greet to meet up with Lestrade.

* * *

><p><em>AN; Funny fact.. fainting is exactly what John Watson did in the original Sherlock holmes return tale. "The empty house." The first and last time he would ever faint. Some-how that's just adorable X)<em>


	8. Chapter 8

It felt like John merely had had a dream, a real realistic dream, but now it was over... it had to be over.

For some moments, some wonderful living moments, he had felt shock, amusement and fury as he hadn't for years. But it was past him, some-thing he had imagined himself.

John was indeed doubting himself as he pushed open the door to Bakerstreet, ever so slightly, it was dark in there, Mrs. Hudson probably had gone to bed, it was after all.. three in the morning.

All the windows had been dark from outside, and his old flat had looked so empty, slowly John walked up the stairs, step by heavy step, it really was silent incredible silent, as John faced the door leading into the flat, he was quite frankly just scared that he was about to walk into a strangers apartment in the middle of the night, or worse.. his old apartment but dusty and all the items covered in white sheets as was it an old inhabited castle. The door was slightly open, John only had to push it for creek all the way up, and send a sound through the hall way, then John hesitated outside.

"Oh for gods sake hurry up all ready!" a deep recognisable voice sounded from within the apartment. "And close that door tight behind you!" Sherlock lastly instructed.

The short words send a sharp iling up through Johns chest as he gasped, And then it made John grump as he stomped inside and smacked the door shut very loudly behind him, to sourly walk inside, only that was the minute he halted for real and just stood paralysed, he couldn't believe his own eyes, everything, every small little thing, was exactly as it used to be, the books all around the place, the skull on the mental piece, the papers secured with a knife, the scratched and miss-used table.. the two chairs and in one of them, the one which belonged to his old friend.. was his old friend, John swallowed as he shakingly took all of this in and finally faced Sherlock, who sat looking so lazy in his chair, only to send a stern look back at John. "You could have been quiet." Sherlock informed a little sternly. "No one is supposed to know any-one lives here."

"A secret huh?" John asked his voice being surprisingly cold and snarky, it was downright filled with contempt.

"Obviously." Sherlock rolled his eyes as he sat ever so calmy with his violin in his own chair. "As you so obviously stated a few hours ago, I am dead. Do sit down." He gestured at the chair in front of him.. Johns old chair.

John hesitated as he saw the chair, then shook his head. "No thanks." He stated.

Sherlock rose and eye-brow.

"It's not that easy Sherlock." John stated as he stood behind his old chair. "I have another life now, other responsibilities, I'm here because I want to know what the hell is going on, that's it." He stated and instead of sitting in his old chair, went over to the couch and sat there instead.

Sherlock merely shrugged as he hid a slight yawn beneath his hand.

"That must have been a rough couple of days." John stated by the uncharismatic sight of a tired Sherlock, it just never usually happened.

"Returning to London, setting up my own come-back ensuring you wouldn't kill me on sight." Sherlock nodded.

"Where have you been all this time?" John asked.

"Abroad." Sherlock stated. "Many different places, spain, Russia, china. I tried to track down as many of Moriartys contacts as possible."

"And why would you do that?" John asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock asked. "I tried to get the proof that Moriarty was a real criminal and Richard Brooke was a fake. We are now connected, as long people believe he is a fake I'll be a fake, when they find out he is real I will become real." Sherlock fumed. "But Moriarty was good, even after his death I still couldn't beat him probably."

"How would you even afford to travel like that?" John asked as he blinked.

"Mycroft." Sherlock stated very simply. "I went to Mycroft, he financed me."

At that Johns hand suddenly tightened, it was turning white as he bit together. "Mycroft?" he asked. "You went to Mycroft and asked for help? But you couldn't let me in on the secret?" he asked bitterly. "Wasn't I trust worthy enough?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You are a thousand times more trust worthy than Mycroft can ever hope to be." He snorted matter of factly. "Sadly you are also a thousand times kinder. Mycroft is cold as stone, he holds so many life important secrets and no one will ever be the wiser, plus." At that Sherlock sighed even more deeply. "He had the finances and power to ensure my comfort and travels, that I could not ask from you."

John exhaled deeply, before taking another breath. "Okay, I see the logic in that." He nodded. "But question two, why now?" he asked looking at Sherlock. "Why of all times would you chose now to come back to life?" he asked.

"Deduce." Sherlock asked of John in a slight grin which only went annoy John further.

"Obviously some-thing happened that changed things." John groaned annoyed. "You found some information, caught some-one."

"The gun-men." Sherlock stated. "There was only one left, we got him temporarily detained today. You are no longer in immediate life danger, that makes me partially free again."

"Partially?" John asked.

"Well, if I suddenly turned up again I would still be wanted for supposed several murder attempts." Sherlock grimaced. "And I have very little wish to spend the remainder of my days in a cell, it would drive me absolutely crazy. Can you imagine a life more dull?"

"There's a picture." John had to admit. "I feel sorry for the prison guards all ready." Then halted and then frowned. "Temporarily?" he suddenly realised. "You said temporarily detained, but he was convicted!"

"He'll be released in three days at most." Sherlock told sternly. "Men like that are important, he has contacts, they rather kill him or release him than having him spilling any secrets. As he is not dead yet I'll assume he got friends around." He stated darkly. "Lots and lots of friends." he stated leaning over. "This one isn't just any-one, he is smart, Moriarty trusted no one, had no right hand man, but that doesn't mean no one tried to pick his empire up after his dead, out of all them whom tried, this man is now the closest.. some-where, some-where he has the information.."

"Oh." Was all John could say at that time. "But why…" hesitated. "Why reveal yourself to me now then." He asked again.

"Because I need you." Sherlock stated. "I need you to do the foot work, I can't walk outside, I'll risk being recognised, I can't phone the police or do half the research I would need to, I need you to help me on this." And then folded his hands. "That gun-man is the key, he has the evidence, evidence that Moriartys empire and thus Moriarty himself is real, we need to search him, find his contacts, in order to let me go free."

"so that's it?" John asked. "You wouldn't have contacted me if it weren't because you needed me."

Sherlock halted as John looked demanding at him. "I erh.." he hesitated. "What I mean is that." He fumbled.

"Wait, forgive me I am shocked and tired." John rubbed his temples. "You all ready told me, you almost texted me on several occasions."

"So we are good then?" Sherlock asked.

"No." John stated flatly. "But I'll listen."

"Will you help me?" Sherlock then asked. "I could go to Mycroft, get one of his paid service people to do the foot work, but I can't trust them."

The underlying words were very forceful, Sherlock wanted to work through John, and no one else, not if he could help it.

At last and very defeated John shook his head. "Yeas of cause." He then said. "Call me, text me, say the word but." He held his tongue. "When this is over, when you are free again, I have to go."

"What ever you say." Sherlock shrugged. "I never held you captured here." He yawned a deep yawn hiding beneath his hand.

"You _do_ look like shit." John commented on Sherlocks look. "Have you at all eaten probably the last three years."

"I'm not sure." Sherlock stated.

"You've taken up smoking again." John observed.

"Not as of this second, I am in the middle of a case, I don't need it." Sherlock stated forcefully.

"Sherlock, you stink of cigarettes, so does this entire flat, is there anything else you have been taken?" John asked seriously.

Sherlocks eyes flickered around the room. "Oh nothing threatening to my health." He hesitated.

"So.. some-thing." John stated. "Lay it out." He demanded with crossed arms.

Sherlock blinked his eyes, as if he didn't understand, though obviously he would have to, it was not the first time they had had that conversation.

"Your arm Sherlock." John demanded. "Let me see it."

"I do think I am able to take care of my own health." Sherlock almost snorted.

"Hah, that's a laugh, you were _never_ able to take care of your own health." John stated in a sarcastic voice.

"I was fine long before I ever knew whom you were." Sherlock snorted right back in a just as sarcastic voice.

"Yeah, I'm sure both Mycroft, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson will back you up on that one." John rolled his eyes his word winning their little contest of whom could be the most sarcastic. "Now let me _see!" _and without warning he flung himself at Sherlock in a body assault grabbed his arms.

Sherlock how-ever was not new at being attacked so he was ready and shielded himself, but didn't want to hurt the doctor, which gave John and opening to take his arm and twist, for Sherlock to twist John around in return, and before any of them knew what was happening they tilted and landed on the floor in a quite the struggle.

"GET OFF ME!" Sherlock shouted.

"Stop being a baby!" John shouted right back before finally he reached his goal and got Sherlocks sleave pulled back, only to stop stunned. "Oh god, Sherlock." He grimaced by the sight of the many many punctures, the far to visible veins having nasty purple colours, and the smell, John had to wrinkle his nose, it was a disgusting smell he had come to connect with wounds not probably tended to out in the middle of dessert of Afghanistan.

Sourly Sherlock retrieved his arm and covered it up. "okay, so maybe a little morphine and some cocaine here and now. But it was three years John! Three years where I couldn't pick up a case or I could be spotted and you would die, my mind drove me crazy!"

"Fine then." John gritted having knowledge enough to know that any attempt or injection towards the miss-use as of this moment would be miss-placed, he had to use other means and focus on some-thing else at the immediate moment. "At least tell me you disinfect that arm on a daily basis and always used clean needles."

Sherlock was silent.

"God Sherlock." John crumbled. "Then be sure to wait here till tomorrow, then I'll bring some disinfect liquid and clean that thing myself."

"There's not that many places I can go." Sherlock grumbled sourly sitting down on the couch where he yawned deeply. confused he shook his head and his head tipped over as the detectives eyes clearly grew very heavy very quickly. "So sorry, but some-how I just feel.. so drained right now." Sherlock mumbled laying down on the couch. "I don't know why." he stated pillowing his head in his arms.

"You over strained yourself, as you always do." John shook his head as he looked at the dark haired figure laying on the couch. "Sherlock, what am I supposed to think?" he asked as he turned around looking towards the window where the drapes where shut tight, probably to make sure no one peaked inside. "I'm standing here, and it's like I have stepped into a bloody time capsule, but I hope you understand, I can't allow myself to fall back into what we did, I have a life now, a prober life." John stated looking at the drapes then the violin left in Sherlocks chair. "I do love Mary, I should do all that I can to make her happy." His eyes then fell on his own chair, he hadn't sat down in. "Do you understand Sherlock?" John asked turning to Sherlock, only to suddenly find out. The dark haired man laying on the couch, had fallen deep a sleep, and now just laid snoring very lightly, almost soundless but rhythmically, Sherlock never moved an inch while he slept, and neither did he now. But a sleep he was for sure.

John sighed deeply and grabbed a blanket to carefully spread it over Sherlock. "Sherlock I.." John hesitated. "Anything, any-time, what-ever you need." He told the sleeping frame, and as the detective had fallen a sleep, that was the time a tear was allowed to escape the veteran soldiers eye, John didn't even bother to wipe it away as it was followed by a few more. "I'm just so happy to have you here, I missed you, but god I wish, I so wish you were better at taking care of yourself." He stated. "It would make things a whole lot simpler." And then he quietly left the apartment, quietly closed the door after himself, and as quietly as he possible could, listed down the stairs to be meet by the rising sun outside, groaning by the knowledge he would get any sleep. He would just go fetch what he needed to take care of Sherlocks health problems and come straight back.

God this would be difficult to explain to Mary…


End file.
